The Garden in Fall

A few leaves, fresh fallen
from the oaks, lie bright and dead
in the greenery.

The last flowers
punctuate the fading green,
more precious

for their survival
of the first frosts
and cold nights,

survivors, like love
after pain, their color
less a reminder

of what has been lost,
than what is to come.

About this poem

The picture was taken in the garden of the woman I love, just yesterday. Somehow it reminds me of the preciousness of finding her, and of finding love again in my fifties. So much more precious at this age and season in life, than it was when I was young and took love for granted.

Tom