These Leaves Falling
by Frank Coffman
These leaves falling on October lawn,
Fossils numberless of the tall trees wings,
Land dead-muddle in the mushroom rings.
Tree fingers lose their feel; the sap is drawn
Down from the tube tips. The summer brawn
Is gone or going now. Fall's seasonings
Effect more than the trees. Its colorings
Pervade both flora and the close man-fawn
Who watches now as dawn is faintly red.
Here he will come to watch when fall has fled;
Here to this spot when the winds grow blow and brusk,
By tusks of the tall-fall, winter-splinter, husk-on-husk
Trees, he will stand and grow from the common bed
And wait with giant brothers for the russet dusk.