It is only July, I think,
As I scatter corn for the chickens
Across the dirt
Of the fenced yard
Only July, yet, there it is
A yellow curled leaf
Still is has the shape of its younger self.
The Wisteria leaf
Shoots out in the spring
A green sprig
Of whimsy
Exuberant in foretelling
The warm wrap
Of a sultry summer
The vibrant green
Of new growth
Proliferates like vine-busters
In the rains of May
And shades the yard
In the full leaf
of June.
Now crackly and dry
It is the harbinger
Of winter winds
A dry wisp
Of its green self
At the mercy of a light brush
To return dust to dust.
In July it is
A Tea leaf
Of winter.