Each fall, I make a point of walking by these bushes
to see if the leaves are the correct color, and have arranged themselves
into a pose that would make a nice picture.
So far, this is as close as I've gotten.
Sometimes, the yellow leaves hang in the gray weather,
like a solitary heart waiting for an absent lover until,
too cold and dripping with rain like a single tear,
it drops away, it's hopes turned to winter.