The Withering

No one marvels at fallen leaves

when the first gust

of spring breeze comes,

carrying with its breath

the putridity of autumn’s decay

Present as the remains

of fragile foliage are

their vibrant colours have leeched

and washed away with

the season’s final thaw

Fall’s essence sinks

into warming earth

and down

below the sewer grates

We look to the treetops

for our first glimpses of green

as we crunch the crumbling

forebears of new buds

beneath our eager feet

No one considers the withering

We’re so easily distracted by

the enchantment of nubile youth

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