Autumnal Leaves


In the trees’
Brown shedding,
Loosened in November’s
And grey clouded
And with the lessening,
Light falling back
In earth’s tilt
Gusts come
To lick the leaves,
Scurry them
If they will heap
And hurry,
Or Drive the well wrapped,
Buttoned-up shoppers,
Bluster haired
And wind blithery,
To tread them
From browns to black,
If already
Moist paper,
Mulch layering
The sticky pavement walked.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

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