FALL FELL FAST*
When November stretched its skin across the sky
fall fell fast as a maple flange closed
east of the setting sun.
There was no time to wait the warbler's song,
nor almost taste the cedar wash the wind.
No chance to feel the leaf-plash underfoot
down wooded pathways only lonely kestrels know.
No time to see the leaf-down rain
print the morning air vermillion.
No time sift the seasons
and gather feelings firm
because a nearby junco swore
that snow was on the way.
Jerome L. McElroy
*Accepted Poetpourri (1993).