Scribblings on a Napkin During Work

October waxes with the moon,
We shed our summer skin.
From faces and arms slides the glow,
Slips away to adorn
The fluttering fingers of the trees
In whimsical raiment of gold.
We don't see the lifeblood start to slow
As days of sunshine grow silently slim—
Only festive confetti spiraling down
To frame our footsteps
Till winter falls;
Till she scatters her chill
Over our fingers and face
And spreads white across
Our streets and skin.

Some saplings I know
And a few strong, sturdy oaks
Quiver with fear as October wanes.
Gracefully they gloried in their gold,
In burnished, fiery bronze and red;
Now softly they moan,
They sigh and they tremble
As Wind strips their sole riches away
To litter the path which lies beneath
And be trampled to dust
Or left sodden to rot
And all former beauty forgotten.
They shake in the wind,
Howl their pain,
Fearing an imminent death.

Squirrels scamper through the wreck,
Frolic 'cross swaying boughs
Seeking the seeds unclaimed by the earth
Asking promises when Spring's rains sing.
Canst thou not see,
Thou elm, maple and oak,
Thou are not like the squirrel?
Canst thou not trust
Thou art unforgot
And thy Maker knows what He does?
That Springtime will swell
With riches anew?
Hold thou to hope for fullness to come
That now in thy waiting
Thou can scarce comprehend.