Leaves of mottled copper

Walking on Leaves

Leaves of gold and crimson
Curl crisply on the street,
Their papery voices chatter
As they crunch beneath my feet.
It’s early Monday morning
And the sun is warm and sweet.

Leaves of mottled copper
Flop sadly on the road,
The rain clouds, dark and heavy,
Have dropped their soaking load.
It’s Monday afternoon, now,
And the squelchy leaves are cold.

© Celia Warren 2015

First published in We See a Cloud - HarperCollins, 2015