Outside the latticed window pane
The maple branches stretch, palm-upward, wet and dark
Upraised to silver streams en route to earth from heaven,
Coursing over skin-like bark.
Refreshed, refined, the cold mist hanging
in the air, another season's growth complete,
The tattered yellow leaves, now shaken down and lying
Scattered at the feet,
Bear record of one more year
And summer passing. Enveloped overhead
The geese pass too. A shaggy spruce leans, thoughtful,
On a deserted garden bed.