LEAVES of GOLD
Leaves of gold are falling fast
Along with acorns and beech mast.
The lawn is littered with all sorts
Ginger tom thinks its cat sports
Chasing as the wind decides
Better than any fairground rides.
The winter sun is white and bright
Clocks ticked back, time less tight …
As all enjoyed their Sunday lie in
Mum puts off the mountain of ironing.
The leaves of gold are not alone
With bronze and brass and many a tone
Some are still as green as verdigris
Its all a matter of some small degree.
Such colours look like giant’s confetti
But it’s just mother nature’s graffiti
As she plays with our fragile senses
Daring us to control with walls and fences.
Ever changing as the wild winds depict
North east to south west, oh so slick
The wind gives me just a little tingle
As the tiny white bells of the fuchsia jingle.
The black bamboo puts out a shoot
Good job we confined its voracious root
Looks like a snake to bite your boot
Before it raises its head like cobra’s hood.
With raised cut the lawn looks lush
The world winds down … no rush
To sit and breathe, marvel and enjoy
I get it, centred, at peace, pure joy.
Leaves of gold? Pure speculation!
© David Tenneson –2017