Maple Dust The town is bright, it is the trees With all the red and yellow leaves. They swirl around like fairy dust And top the ground with golden crust. The wind is cruel, it takes the leaves To far-off places in their dreams, But where they go, it’s far from home, And now the leaves are all alone. In my mind I wish to keep, The memory of fall so deep, The beauty of its golden leaves That flutter softly to the eaves.
My niece wrote this poem as a young girl when inspired by autumn in Ancaster, Ontario. The poetry resurfaced many years later in her late grandmother’s treasured possessions.
2012, Martha Hill Duncan Winner of 2009 CFMTA Vocal Writing Competition
