October Weeps Late Threads of Gold
The Maple tree has gone,
the storm broke it,
then it was chopped to pieces.
For decades it stood
as a gold-leafed palace that graced
our commonplace cull-de-sac,
now it has been carried away
upon overladen truck-beds.
Late in this graying October
a few curling leaves linger
around its bosky stump.
A burnished copper, a tawny russet,
and a powdering of old gold
have leached out
from its deep-set roots.
A slow pyre of Fall colors
has emerged there
where no fire flickers.
yet it forms a last memorial
autumnal wreath.
Gradually, teacups of illumination
seep from a darkening horizon,
a sinking light now rakes only mist,
yet occasionally at sunset,
a maple palace for a moment shimmers,
a gold glittering
to greet our colorless eyes.
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