Leaves of Ash groves clustered
Like some bushels of fallen fruit
An amalgam of autumn stirrings and sparks
As the birds of the season cackle with reason
Echoes of the past when the Druids spoke
Walking through the forest in rhyme in Time
Amazing clichés forgiven and driven
To know the languages of each creature
Each vine blessing the culinary wine
And making a sacrifice of the moment
Music to the ears of those who can hear
Blessings, undressings, the vessels quite queer
How they jangled and tangled and disappeared so
And at last all that remained were the leaves.
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