Leaves fallen are summer’s tabernacle Upon earth as altar, bearing life within And life without: children, a protesting squirrel And that storied grasshopper, unprepared
Neither blanket nor carpet, but a studio Of life, in which cellular structure frames The secrets of green chloroplastic life And graphs the sweet, wind-chorused songs of summer
They fall asleep for a time, to awaken in spring: Leaves fallen are summer’s tabernacle