Children were playing,
families talked;
cloistered in stone,
the students walked;
in the garden I sat alone.
Count to a hundred,
hide and freeze,
“ready or not”
under autumn trees;
October sun,
golden and hot.
The Roman road
stretched itself
under our feet,
kindly, a gleaming
grassy street.
A little child, dreaming,
studied catalpa leaves,
paper-bag brown,
the cherry’s flushed gold
lightly showering down –
the leaf in each fist
a wonder untold –
measured and confident,
came to my side
and with joy in his eyes
gave me autumn’s pride,
turning fallen leaves
to a matchless prize.
They line the paths today
under the rains,
but generous yesterday
remains.