Witness the Withering
Leaves jump-suited in brown-stained uniforms
signal the fall the way a weak wrist fails the hand.
They're showing their backs to us now,
refusing from want to hold our attention.
Heat sours early morning air, dully clips the breeze
of rhythm, pronounces the sky's metallic canvas
a mockery of unworked clouds.
What strength it takes to witness the withering,
what will to keep untended fire burning.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas