Looming night and artificial light,
A pendulum delicately balancing,
Draped whimsically
As if held in place
By an invisible sheer force of will,
Hanging, bustled from a rigid,
Spine-straight brown-black
Pole etched into by the
Fluorescent light that
Paints the golden leaves
A glinting orange duo-chrome,
The leaves flinging themselves
On to the hard, barely-breathing ground,
Gasping only when no one will notice,
Paved in a rainbow of greens and faint yellows,
Steady and straight as far as
The eye can tell,
Hoping the chill will turn to wind
To carry them away from
The only mother they’ve ever known,
Stable ground below offering
A fresh beginning and a bed
For the leaves to reside in
While they look for a new place to call home.