The Charge of the Brown Brigade
Like so many lemmings blindly leaping
To join a game of follow-the-leader,
Every year around October
They decide to descend, all sweeping
Down on an evening breeze.
The first,
The frailest, leads this charge of the brown
Brigade with scarce a single sound,
And silently, as though rehearsed,
They follow, whispering down the wind
To scrape the Autumn dirt.
“It’s as if
They share a common mind, as if
They think as one.”
I notice then
The troubled look on the freckled face
Beside me.
“But Ms. O’hara says
We’re not to follow the crowd. She says
To be yourself.”
I gently mess
The auburn hair and watch the leaves
Come circling down from overhead.
“Your teacher’s right.” A burnished red
Has blanketed the house’s eaves.
“But still,” I say in a subtler tone,
“We weren’t created to age alone.”
Copyright © Luke Harvey | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment