Vancouver Maple's Winter

Morning light comes passing by way too soon then the cold breezes blow and up is the moon. Chilly frost lives through the day, months and years Nocturnal animals at night you hear. But do not fear, thus the maple leaves fall. And as I gaze at the late midnight hail through my windows, I can see people quail; clearly hear their deep sensational cries till it echoes the empty street and dies. I know they fear - see the maple leaves fall. Night passes, there goes the sun slowly arise, the sleeping state wakes, and watches the bat flies. Men shut their huts; crawls by the fireplace, leave alone, the glassy path, bitter space. Winter again, and the maple leaves fall.