Leaves

There's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves They swirl and scatter, meet then disengage The moon puts silver footlights in the sheaves and turns the marble court into a stage She draws the curtains when she starts to feel there's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves and when they part again, the scene seems real, with dancers in the wings that she perceives A clever wind plays fiddle in the eaves, while brittle ballerina's pirouette There's nothing left of Autumn... but the leaves still dance for her tonight, in silhouette The figures in he cast are some she chose, those figments of the past her mind retrieves and when the show goes dark at last, she knows there's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves