maple leaves are letters from the past

It is half-read.
The other half is yellow.
The stalk
Is very thin.
It has departed,
It has fled.
The writing is fading:
All colours
Crumble to brown.
It is a flat letter
Of green and rain
And dust and sunshine,
And frost.
Encoded in chlorophyll
To sing when you
Cut a slice of
Old-school rye bread
Fresh from the oven,
Redolent of heat
And your mother’s
Mother’s Mother’s
Hands through the ages
and memories.

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