Lawrence Hall, HSG
These are not the
Leaves of Autumn
These are not the leaves of autumn, these husks;
They died so young, fallen from the summer-burnt oaks
Leaving the lingering limbs barren of green
A struggle of woody cells against the drought
They wear no celebratory colors
Nothing of red or gold to catch the sun
For they died of thirst in their lost-green youth
Never reaching the October they had earned
These are not the leaves of autumn, oh, no
But only shells dry-rattling in the wind
