.
The beeches and the maples are bare
But the cold wind rattles the leaves clinging to the oak
Like the bones of a skeleton, they are dry and brittle
And have no joy in either day or night.
.
They quiver now, oscillating
Like the dits and dahs of some rapid radio code
Bony fingers blown horizontal in the wind
Like children shivering, without coats or shoes.
.
Let go, leaves, let go.
Copyright 2015
Home Economics 