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.