November fall leaf funerals
grampa in flannel coat and ear-flap cap
me in fur-trimmed jacket and pom-pom hat
big rake and little rake
26 trees in grampa's yard
oaks with crunchy-crisp fall-down-brown leaves
and thousands of acorns
kept us and squirrels hunting and gathering
grampa boasting with neighbor
of how many bags each would offer
on his autumn harvest pyre
each secretly sure his sacrifice would please most
On cracked cement altar
leaves piled ceremoniously high
consumed in flame under watchful eye
of grampa against shifting winds
leaves to ashes, ashes to dust
pom-pom clad mourner bids farewell
rest in peace, rainbow friends
to nourish next year's soil
but acorns were not burned
acorns explode sending out soul sparks
that singe unwary watchers
their little selves spared, but only for autumn-greedy squirrels
close my eyes and i can smell
oak-leaf incense from ritual burning
hanging heavy-hazy under leaden November clouds
sharp, sad fire-fall fragrance
summer oak bounty smoldering
on heaps of crimson and ash
tolling Indian summer death knell
somber scent of endings and good-bye
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