Yellow golden fans edged in green
Whipping, swirling 'mid Sol's heatless ray
And drifting down to lay between
The stalks of grass with random pose
To make mosaics on the lawn
A single day the gods have chose
The ginko's cloak to mandate gone.
I remember, I think, that chilly day
The skirt shaped leaves upon me lay
As 'neath the branches I lightly sleep
And life's clear moments Time's burglar reaps;
He takes away, I seem to recall,
The fleeting scent of the leaves of Fall
And then the painting behind my eyes,
The light around and within dies.
I recall it, I swear, I know I remember
That bracing wind of late November.
The day the ginko leaves laid down
To rest like me...
