The Old Maple Tree

by Cathy Conger

 

Resplendent in flaming, fall foliage,

she stands poised

on our front lawn,

impeccably attired.

 

A callous wind plucks at her brittle sleeves,

rustles her crimson petticoats,

sets her to shivering until she

drops her fading frock

round her ankles in a heap.

 

And there the old gal stands,

like a naked mannequin,

waiting for the first snowfall,

next season’s gown.

-originally appeared in Free Verse