Letting Loose
For three wild days they clung to twig and branch
As the November gale ripped limbs from trunks
And toppled ancient boles.
Then morning broke, clear, and calm, and cold,
And one by one, then many at a time,
The golden leaves let loose, and rattled to the forest floor.
It might have been the frost that bid them go,
Or, it might have been some rhythm eons old.