You must love these days,
I say to the ancient maple,
as I stand beneath its spread boughs
gazing in awe at its leaves, orange
and lemon and crimson, dancing
in the sun. How could you not
feel proud and triumphant
to have produced such
a glorious display! How I hope
our human adulations
satisfy and touch your soul.
I hope you feel it. I hope you know.
This is what it’s all for, isn’t it?
These precious days of splendor.
The rest, the shade and whispering songs,
and seeds, and perches, and nests,
were simply gracious gifts that you
bestowed along the way because
your core is made of Yes and love.
And now we get to see it, writ large,
in flaming letters that dance in joy
beneath this autumn sky.