There is a mint
In my front yard
The rich gold
Banked
Beneath the sugar maple
I feel wealthy
The beauty
So grand
That passersby
Slow to take
In the sight
It is the blessing
Of fall
When nature
Gives its final gift
Before it
Brings on death
The exposed skeletons
Of the trees
The brown grass
The ghost of wind
Tapping my shoulder
Penetrating me with dread
The chill
Going to my bones
I will pause
Knowing how short
The time
Before they become missiles
Flying in neighbor’s yards
Before I scoop
Them up
Exposing the ground
To the frost
Yet to come
