My ash and walnut trees are dotted with gold
The light takes a step into a garden shed
Late sunflowers burst into blue
Like the eyes of a rustic sun
Reeds gone to seed blur the lakeside
And poplars shimmer in a stream
When leaves all gust as one
There’s a scream on the face of change
With strewn leaves and sticks
Swirling in intricate interweaving lines
October’s hollows are haunted by owls
Like a skeleton answering a telephone
A mossy statue in rain with red roses
Replete with sad beauty and without meaning