The Waltzing Leaves

Butternut browns,

Late day yellowings,

Crying crimsons,

All,

Wait their turn

For stem fall.

Lazily swaying,

Yearning for the journey’s pull,

Waltzing to the wind

Through icy airs,

Windy strings viola bare,

The concerto trill,

All,

Downward they glide,

To old loam lairs.

Veins emptied of life,

Arteries now vacant,

A moving filagree of lace

Moving to darkened roots

Waiting to nurture

A newer green.

Below,

The quiet dirge

Of nourishing loams.

– Burt Baldwin, Bayfield