To a Soldier
        —Lt. Col. Edward Ledford

Imagine it: a world away, Autumn.
Leaves scattering, but not in fiery
Effusion, like the red/gold sentinels

Of the Smokies or north of Boston.
A world away: not enough Fall to
Make a cliché, the one we love about

The season's redemptive powers, its
Dazzling imitation of death, the gold & blood—
Colors. In the desert, in the cities of armaments—

You tell me the leaves die without turning—
Without color, they die. Without a sign
Of how it ended, the season, how it was lost to us.

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Copyright © 2011 Carol Muske-Dukes All rights reserved
from Twin Cities
Penguin Poets
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission