Leaves fall,

uncloaking the grand oak.

The cricket’s song

drifts away with the breeze.

But the delicate Japanese maple

remains glorious and resplendent.

.

Lying under a charcoal sky,

leaves falling like memories of time past,

I turn my head and see you

in the distance.

You-the ruby haired queen

standing on the rampart

watching battle weary soldiers fall.

And I understand hope.