After Robert Frost
by Vanessa L.
The last leaf falls slowly, fluttering down
As though alight on the wind of my breath.
It joins the eddy, the abdicated crown
That once with its presence brought death.
The branches wither, those charred black hands
Which held orb and sceptre, but let them both fall
When the bitter cold winds invaded its lands
And sieges of white ravaged its fortress wall.
The brown velvet robe of thin sodden leaves
No longer drapes over hills, the red battle-front.
The wind flattens the ocean of grass by the sheaves
As the harshness of winter begins its first hunt.