The Autumn Leaves
By Elizabeth Derrick Smith Too many sing The falling leaves drift by the window , And too many guitars and pianos— Orchestras, even—roll along, as if The notes were tumbling on the lawn. The leaves truly are red and gold And dying as the air gets cold. Yes, the nights are longer, and The pears are in their last days Before the snap into winter. In autumn, we gather Where we are sheltered, Together and smiling, against the darkness By golden decorations, turkey, onions With sage, imported oranges, and cinnamon sticks, And moments we sometimes long for while In a garden of purple flowers, flirting In the ferocious heat of summer lust.
