Of Former Flowers

 

They say it will storm;
That winds will blow down the trees;
Now the leaves are still.

 

Sky is bluish gray;
Dead leaves are swept from the lawn.
Everything's waiting.

 

Alfred scratches nose;
That's the function of the fence;
Creative bulling.

A giant dark leaf
Hanging against the pale sky?
Or abandoned nest?

 

Adventure on road;
Flurry of feet, arms and voices--
Kids pick up the mail.

 

 
Two balls on the lawn;
Shelf fungi on the tree trunk;
Each thing in its place.

Dead leaves dot the fir--
Brown amidst the evergreen;
Late Autumn's palette.

A dark dragonfly
Darts among the skeletons
Of former flowers.