October leaves in March

A drizzle, a constant liquid nuzzle

Seeping through heavy overcoats

Sneaking under hats into boots and the socks

While the sea gently rocks the boats

Their masts swaying

Their sails wailing

The wind singing

Through the stringing

The ropes I mean,

Wind howls between the masts and ropes

Plays on them its eternal note

Plays its soulful melody

A fiddle or a harp, a singing saw’s tune

The wind sighs its concerto woefully

Hopefully, someone will hear it play

Or else one could say its all just play, truthfully.

But they hear, in the seams

Or so it seems

They listen and cry, they whistle and sigh

They dance along the shore

Who? Why, the leaves on the bows and the street

All those left and those keen to stay

You may ask them to say

Why they’d ever stay past their time so long and on

Oh, how they’d love to tell

To give you their reason

To them it’s not treason

To trick the season’s marching on

They clung to their roots

Like you to your boots

When the puddles fill the streets

They held on just in fear

They’d else miss to hear

The wind’s tearful sonata

For it tells of a time

Without show and shine

Of an age lacking colour

Of a time’s pallid pallor

Of waves on a far away sea

Off shore off road off shapes other that those that you’d see

when you look out over the ocean

Over the perpetually rocking motion

Of our aquatic life’s originee

My, they stayed to sway

in this solemn melody

To dream and to dance

To take their chance

To defy gravity

6 thoughts on “October leaves in March

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