A Cherry Tree Observation

Late November and the weather turned cold;
The roadside cherry trees all shed their hold
   On their famished, twisted flame-brown leaves;
   Wind-disordered they fell in sheaves,
      Though denied settlement
      As cars came and went.        

A white Ford Focus kept its place a week

And therefore grew a leaf-skin, matt and sleek;
   In its roof rails the leaves piled high,
   Sometimes soggy or crumble dry –
      A confectioner’s array,
      Meringue-like in their tray:

For rich red-brown they aped a soufflé’s peaks,

Or the burnt almonds on a croissant’s cheeks,
   Or dark crushed biscuits for a flan,
   Or toast crumbs in the toaster’s pan:
      But when the car drove off
      It spilled my fancies with a cough!

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© December 2014