The Neighborhood Fire
The sun drops low behind the eaves
To strike the maple in the drive;
A furnace built of autumn leaves
That keeps the neighborhood alive.
The sun drops low behind the eaves
To strike the maple in the drive;
A furnace built of autumn leaves
That keeps the neighborhood alive.
Pressed flat against the furrowed bark,
A golden frond outlives the green;
A lace of amber in the dark,
Where summer’s shadow once had been.