By Don Knies
That maple could fall on our house some day.
But the only fall now is its leaves at their play.
Spinning like helicopters, stem-end down,
Making aerodynamics all of their own.
Or, more chaotic on unsteady breeze,
Drifting, then darting, just as they please.
One dropping leaf tries to sway like a swing,
Or a pendulum strung with invisible string.
This reverie on varied autumnal display,
Of colors so rich with life and decay,
Teases the mind from that ungiven date
When houses near trees are rethinking their fate .