You shield your eyes
from the scarlet brilliance
of the seven majestic maples
standing sentry in front
of your home.
The trees' painted wings
float towards earth,
humming arias and madrigals.
You cry out,
(to yourself, to God,
to the universe)
'Love might be like this! '
You are wrong.
Slighty, yet drastically,
wrong.
Love must be like this.
David Kowalczyk
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/october-opus/
