Maple Fires in Rye
A cold and dark September night
Lit maple trees on fire.
On a brightly bold September morn
Red leaves called up desire.
Fall forest is yet dark green,
Embracing each red leaf.
The maples strike my heart: it throbs;
It aches and seeks relief.
The mapleís green all summer long;
Fall, leaves turn orange-red,
Later, spin in air like yellow birds.
On ground, brown leaves lie dead.
Iíll rake the leaves and build large fires;
All winter long Iíll smart.
The beauty of maple trees in fall
Does sear the aching heart.
Copyright © Rye Reflections 2009. All rights reserved.