I think the leaves down on my roof of tin. <br />I feel the failing brightness on my skin. <br />Autumn insects sing the shadows thin. <br /> <br />You came to me out of a killing frost, <br />How many wildflowers did your journey cost? <br />Your eyes are cold, gold with the sun you lost. <br /> <br />My fingers write the seasons on your face. <br />Leaves whisper songs no morning could replace. <br />The music plays inside as we embrace. <br /> <br />Glass mirrors a gray bowl of simplicity, <br />Your telling of the fog is poetry, <br />Words fill the emptiness with you and me. <br /> <br />Color is raining somewhere far away, <br />I close my heart to what the sad leaves say. <br />Good-bye would be too real for me today. <br /> <br />Would you catch me a color for belief? <br />The poem must be ours however brief. <br />We might not know the song of next year's leaf. <br /> <br />Previously published, Appalachian Heritage, Berea College<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/killing-frost/
