What majesty turns you
from green to yellow to gold to orange to gone?
Why is your neighbor red,
the other brown,
the other green?
I wish I could find
the crayola words
to describe your beauty,
and the breath-eliminating way
the sun spotlight highlights your natural color,
or softens it, or adds golden tones.
Clairol can’t touch this.
Your gilded tresses
clutter my once-green carpet.
I bag and compost,
rake and compost,
tarp-pile and compost
and still
you share and shake and softly slide
onto the yard.
Tomorrow you will be all but bald.
Next year, you will emerge
in the sweetness of July’s Early Girl
and August’s Best Boy.
This month,
you are a brief and glorious blast.
What majesty!
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