Autumn

the wind blows rings around me
rings of yellow, red and orange
leaves,
making one last run of it
aided by the wind and by me.
I wish them into motion along the
street.
Free of the mother, they
flee like children running in the
sunlight.
We meet like that
the wind
the leaves  
the street
and me
I am old
I could not run with them
this time

   - David Jackson
 

to David  /  to Moongate