Songs Of September Poem by Zoe Guillory

The leaves faded to orange.
Dappled light at sunset; a spiritual balance.
The fire of Death as is licks up the green.
Faded to orange and fell like hanged men.
And dried to brown.
Fresh earth; the bark of their mothers.
The poverty of the cities of filth.
Dried to brown and crushed like insects.
The trees were left alone.

As the squirrels scurry.
Scurry to gather their life's work
and survive through the soft snow
and the cold hard ground.

The silent crunches of dried leaves;
Death sets beneath the weight of the wind.
The heat of love had flown away
along with the songbirds that sing
to greet each perfectly new morning.