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
