Ripened leaves

October sees us swarm

orchards of gnarled youth

anxious at the last to gather

in the ripest fruits

soft cheeked & supple

before autumn fells & spoils

& the undug grave soil

gestates a change in the weather

what then the wax green

tooth-edged leaves moist

on those dew-frost mornings

when the buxom crop

alights, must they ripen to rust,

their sacrifice to children?

But the children have flown!

Save the leaves! Save them all!

© 2013 Slush Poet