Late September


I meant to sweep the leaves away

and pile the colors high,

but spent my time watching Canada geese

speed through the orange sky.

I sat beneath my maple tree

(no syrup running now),

and waited for the coming flights

high over the painted boughs.

Some call the cry too sad a sound

and turn their ears to stone,

but I know why they refuse to hear:

It makes them feel alone.

Such solemn birds are welcome here,

and free to have their say

and give a voice to an inner warmth.

The leaves will keep another day.