Gold

golden copper leaves

scuttle round our feet

enter, enter

this vault of fall

walk with me down

its glittering hall

its buttresses are blustering

dead, rich trees flying

blossoming with that wealth

of the curious street-side poet—

around you both flock

pages and pages of little black notes

just some arpeggios

that a student dropped

but by God! they have become a

stream in our autumnal storm

along that golden clutter

copper fluttering rakishly

by

God!