Autumn Leaves By Pat Jerome

Crisp, frost touched leaves,

Whirled into heaps by icy cold winds

in a dance from tree, bole to bole,

a mad interpretation of a flamenco.


Blackbirds, ever on the lookout,

dive, dance, and hunt

Throwing debris hither and yon,

seeking insects and grubs


The Wind picks up the leaves again,

flinging them from bush to bush,

where they pile even higher

clasped by the lower branches.


Squirrels caught out by the early frost,

scrabble in desperate haste

for nuts or acorns,

buried in balmier days.


Night falls, the wind eases,

the full moon silvers branch and leaf.

all is still, but for a fox

like a shadow flitting through the woods.


By Patricia Jerome

About highamwriters

A group of recreational creative writers and if you ask us nicely we will let you publish some of our work
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