The Annual Maple Dance

Tuesday

Here’s a poem by my father, about nature’s “annual striptease,” that I’ve shared multiple times in the past. It never gets old.

Maple Dance
By Scott Bates

We watch the show
 From our kitchen window–

 Our maple tree’s
 Annual striptease.

 She shimmies
 In the autumn breeze.

 Everything glows
 In the golden sun,

 Everything goes
 Till the dance is done–

 Every leaf
 Of her lamé sheath,

 Every veil
 In the woodwind’s wail,

 Until she’s bare
 In the whistling air

 Her arms held high
 To the rocking sky

 As slender
 In her Giacometti splendor

 As a lightning rod
 For the thunder god

 Who comes
 With his drums,

 His flashing cymbal,
 His rimshot hail,

 His wirebrush snow,
 His white Peugeot,

 To take her
 To his theatre

 Resplendent
 In her ermine fur.

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