The Old Maple Tree
by Cathy Conger
Resplendent in flaming, fall foliage,
she stands poised
on our front lawn,
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