leaves are a workin', to some kind of changing
sayin’, "Hush little baby, don't you cry."
leaves are a nearin', a falling
we’ve been awaitin’, leaves to dry
since we
you and me
invented autumn. . . to make
summer… miss us
there is no language
to catch the spring, up to summer
and fall
on your way into crisp and crinkle
under your ankles
you should have used
on leaves. . .