RED LEAVES
by Elizabeth Miller
ON MALVERN HILL RED LEAVES REST
AGAINST THE SNOW LIKE BLOOD.
DARKNESS AND RAIN ENCLOSE IT,
A COLD AND DISMAL SHROUD.
WHOSE VOICE IS IT THAT CALLS ME?
THE TONES ARE DEEP AND LOW.
TIS ONLY THE WIND IN THE HEMLOCK
SCATTERING THE WEEPING SNOW.
HUSH! WHOSE STEP IS THAT?
THE UNDERBRUSH CRACKLES LIKE GLASS.
TIS ONLY A FOX IN THE HEDGEROW
STEALTHILY SLIPPING PAST.
HE WILL NEVER COME AGAIN,
AND WHERE HE IS I CANNOT GO
UNTIL MY HEART IS PIERCED,
AND FALLS
LIKE RED LEAVES RESTING IN THE SNOW.