Falling In Leaves - Poem by Stephanie Street
The Experts, in remote wisdom, declare-
This autumn is the finest show
of colours since The Records first began.
I, with not a little fear,
observe (as leaks a burnt vermillion tinge,
bled from my tumbling heart,
to paint the world) the ivy, oak and cedar
are red in love as me.
I drift with trepidation – like a leaf,
seduced by gravity, makes from
a fast-disrobing tree – from quiet oneness
towards the flowing waters of
this seminal embrace. I cannot buck
its vertiginous pull;
It is beyond me, is entrenched within me.
Oh, how it scares the heart!
Are my gifts enough? They may not promise
like the tender, budding flower,
or shine with glory as a summer sun.
My petals are the fingers of
a hand that will enfold his, tease his many-
coloured strands of beard.
My only glory will unravel with
the seasons’ shedding skins.
We are not Spring lovers; not so prosaic
to frolic in dewy, verdant
meadows, or frisk like April lambs among
the banks of fleeting daffodils.
What we can do is crackle like the kindling
on a hearth; he showers me
in fallen leaves, and like a fur I will
cover him from the rains.
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