If leaves could talk on POETRY FRIDAY

Welcome to Poetry Friday. It’s a wet one here, perfect for enjoying the poetry selections posted at Fomograms. Thanks, David Elsey, for hosting today.

The leaves are lovely now and have helped me let go of summer. Hurricane Irene stripped many leaves away in August. The damage and hardship in neighboring areas has been so great that we’re not complaining about something as small as the lack of brilliant foliage. My mom used to sing this song in the fall:

“Come,” said the wind to the leaves one day /“Come over the meadow with me and play /Put on your dresses of red and gold /for summer is over and days grow cold.” American poet George Cooper

Remembering it got me thinking about what the leaves would say to the wind.

The Leaves Respond

Red silk rustles down
by the cattails and muffles
the murmur of gold gabardine.
Russet taffeta swishes
along the stonewall to
pose beside a bronze brocade.
Showing the fall collection,
they ignore the wind’s call.
They zip their zippers, fasten
their buttons, smooth their creases,
twirl, dip and sashay.
With a backward glance
and a ruffle flounce, they say,
“High fashion doesn’t play.”
Miffed, the wind insists
until colors deepen and reach their peak.
Then she teases apart their seams
and gathers their gowns
around their knees.