Leaves falling gracefully,

Two side by side,

Close enough to touch each other,

But never doing so,

Falling on soft currents

In the swan white haze,

Old trees bend and hung,

And shelter in the shadow,

From the burning sun.

In London York and Birmingham,

Leaves are rustling

under the feet

The army of grief

is passing with fleet

fleets of tussling

when no relief

heart can found

Leaves

      Leaves scatter

before the wind

over the sidewalk, random

rasps and scrapes

before

Relinquished crown,

Beheld in gothic beauty,

Colors of daffodil and fire,

Citrus and maroon.

I must go for the greater