Under the Liquidamber
Autumn sings her song now
in the whispered stillness
of quiet reflection
she packs the suitcase
of Summer's remembrance.
Her clothing, rustic hues
oranges, yellows, and reds
warm the eye and heart
with richness
a prelude to the hearth fires
that warm the body
with the arrival of Winter's chill.
In mellow voice, her caramel tones
seduce the breeze, leaving word
to fell the leaves
that flutter ~
like wounded butterflies
as they twirl and fall
to the ground,
carpeting this earthen floor.
As here I sit,
under the Liquidamber
keeping company with Autumn.
Autumn, the tree and me.
Copyright 2001 Robynne Black
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