Martin Robertson

Now and Then

[Golden, red, brown]

Golden, red, brown—

when they begin to loosen and come down

I hear my mother say

“Each caught leaf promises a happy day

next year”.

Have you tried to catch

these autumn flutterers?

Almost all elude your snatching

though one may settle on you unawares.

Now I don’t need

such magic fancies.

Any leaf which dances

off its tree for me may reach the ground.

I have found

a sounder spell.  Our love.

There will be days, not enough—

rather, not many, but so good,

so satisfying, enough’s irrelevant—

after the last leaf follows its crooked trail

to carpet the bare wood,

days in any season of them all

when you and I shall

be with one another and content.