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.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
more leaves than a child can count
 
drop from the maple.

 
 
 

First day of autumn—
 
I count only two red leaves
 
on my maple tree.

 
 
 

Long before daybreak
 
the first bright notes of birdsong
 
stir the maple leaves.