by Evan LaVe
Still some traces of yellow and bright
Gold sparkle beyond the forests edge,
And yet some evergreen too.
Rays beam down in sunlight brigade
To dance with the dew.
Scratches are heard through the dying
Canopy in an eager searching for food;
Seeds make a fancier taste.
Though, nothing beneath the blanket of
Leaves will likely go to waste.
And clouds keeping cool the air which
Breathes sadness to an onlookers heart,
Is forced upon with smiles.
The fall, even near its end, can still
Be heard and seen for miles.
Copyright Steven B. Dodd 1998