Crimson maple leaves
 
in the old stone Buddha’s lap
 
quickly fade to brown.

 
 
 

Crimson maple leaves,
 
loosened by an autumn breeze,
 
flutter to the ground.

 
 
 

A sagging front porch—
 
two old people in rockers
 
watch maple leaves fall.

 
 
 

Stripped of its brilliance,
 
the once-crimson maple leaf
 
has turned brittle-brown.

 
 
 

What song’s left to sing
 
now that all the maple trees
 
have cast off their leaves?

 
 
 

unleashed maple leaves
 
staining the crisp air crimson
 
as they fall to earth

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
one by one the maple leaves
 
abandon their tree.

 
 
 

Coffee on the deck—
 
a crow in the maple tree
 
keeps badgering me.

 
 
 

While I paint the fence,
 
a crow in the maple tree
 
keeps his eye on me.

 
 
 

Though I keep hoping
 
that something more will happen,
 
maple leaves turn red.