Maple Fires in Rye

Norm Walker



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 maple’s green all summer long;
Fall, leaves turn orange-red,
Later, spin in air like yellow birds.
On ground, brown leaves lie dead.

I’ll rake the leaves and build large fires;
All winter long I’ll smart.
The beauty of maple trees in fall
Does sear the aching heart.            
    



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November, 2009



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