The brightest of the blush is off the leaf,
between the aching spaces only brown
remains suspended sparsely in relief,
because the canopy has fallen down.
The transient exuberance that flashed
bright colors which belied their evanescence
relentlessly without regret has crashed,
insentient of splendor in senescence.
Predictably some poets still enthuse
about the changes making them recall
the treachery that treadmill of the muse
recycles like dry leaves that turn each fall.
I fear that I, too, am no less predictable
than nature which produces with God’s brush
recurring pictures than are not depictable
by poets even when they do not rush.
Written on October 26,1997, the day the clock moved forward for the fall. It parallels “Leap of Spring” which was written on April 1,1997. This poem was inspired by Charles Osgood who, introducing a segment on Spoon River, Illinois, said: “The brightest of the blush is off the leaves.”
10/26/97,8/5/09
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem