Autumn Leaves – a poem

Autumn Leaves

By Vermon R.C. Boxall

 

Have you seen the autumn leaves?

Spicy, coloured, shades of an era warm and violent, they stay yet, eternally silent…

Silent as they spiral and tumble from the tree’s spigot, into the bosom of the earth’s dusty dry barrel…

The sole witness, this writer at his carrel

Applauded by fairies, bugs, and light, graceful and defiant in their last flight,

Vermillion, ochre, golden and scarlet in hue, spinning in flight in salutation to a season we once knew,

Distanced from their mother branch,

Their welcome to earth unheralded, unannounced, gone the days whence from leafy stems in the gentle breeze, they did bounce…

Only silence, seen from our warm abode, adding to autumn’s impending workload,

Silence salutes their season’s end, no avian friends a tweet or song to send…

A bird’s song so sweet and canorous, giving way to autumn leaves own susurrus.

They settle and land, knowing their work was only God or Ra’s hand…

The scarring of the earth by a vibrant rake moves them into a bundle so man his thirst for neatness and order can slake…

Acorns, chestnuts, twigs and bark, leaves, and patterns formed in the dark…

Leaves piled high as an epitaph to summer’s bounty, now their fate sealed, in every county…

Sweaty brow as our task complete leaves removed from under our feet.

Now for elemental fire, is it pyromania, or is it a secret desire?

A flaming ember is all it needs, as memories of summer from our minds slowly bleed,

Smoke swirling in a lustful dance, rising into the air and on the branches prance.

The funeral pyre has its heat intense, and crackling cinders, now, it all makes a bit of sense…

No cheering laughter of gay abandons, no witness or folk or child named Brandon.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, a salute to summer and its viridian lust…

In the last throes of symbolic faith, smoke swirls up through the mother plant,

An opaque halo, lit by the sun’s weakened slant…

The worker, his task complete, leans on his rake whilst resting his dusty feet, thoughts of bountiful summer complete.

His mind drifts to a season we once knew, replaced by a season with icy mouldy dew.

Where did it all go? summer seemed warm and slow, autumn with its voracious appetite has devoured the warmth and the sun’s radiant light.

Visions of heat and rain, like a phoenix, rise up once again,

Upon spring’s sweet bridle, and emanating from, autumn’s cairn…

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