winter waits to steal this flame
home fires will soon be burning
we will have to
trade this illusion
barter memory
to recall such beauty
no weeping willow
this year
but a
blaze of punctuation
ending this
bland sentence of
late fall
fiery yellow exclamations
holding on
easing us toward winter
no weeping willow
the life of the party
the
last
one
to
leave
celebrating in color
bright torches
mocking the brown, drab loss of green
laughing, shouting
here I am, here I am
lighting the way home…
Barry DeCarli
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli
