Yellow and I
by: E. A. Bartholomew

When Autumn leaves descend upon the ground
The browning grass is painted vibrant Yellow,
And jerked and tossed on stark hills without sound:
A torpid bow in dire need a cello.
Its dancing in the wind would reach a halt
Once the vibrant Yellow's way is lost;
It does not reàlize its tragic fault
Until the bloody Rubicon is crossed.

The frigid lonely branches wait in pain
And catch a scornful glance by passing birds
In waiting for return of warm Spring rain
I now recall those final caustic words.
No message left a meaning more profound:
"I'll leave you when the Autumn comes around"