Last Dance.
Look at them skedaddle along the sidewalk
like runaways, dash across the boulevard,
full of beans, reckless as buccaneers,
realizing perhaps this could be
their last dance
before Winter
closes the whole show down.
- poem courtesy of pinterest
John Malone 
Bringing the house down, those rowdy leaves. Party on!
LikeLiked by 3 people
hahah; thanks K: they were jubilant 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love the personification…let those leaves kick up their heels!
LikeLike
yes, why not; they know how to celebrate !
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderfully visual poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
it was so wonderful to see them racing along hanging out for each other when the clock is ticking; they don’t feel our moroseness–
LikeLiked by 2 people
Wow, what a beautiful imagination. In my mind’s eye, I can see leaves celebrating their new-found freedom
LikeLiked by 1 person
yes, and that too 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thinking of you and hope you’re doing well 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you, Eden; follow up post tomorrow 🙂
LikeLike
thank you, Eden: i just followed the leaves along; they were so merry —
LikeLike
I love this John, as I was reading this I was listening to the bright pink dried bougainvillea flowers skitter across the pavers in the breeze. Soon the entire bush will be frost struck and miserable until spring when it will hurt forth again in a riot of colour. It’s right outside my entrance door so I really miss its vibrancy through winter.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thanks, Kete[ it;s a lovely image {)
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love this, they are a swirly, rowdy bunch who refuse to lie down and die
LikeLiked by 3 people
oh, that is terriifc, Beth
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful! Last chance to dance, and they are making the most of it.
LikeLiked by 2 people
a lesson we all can ear, Bob 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I like your skedaddle music. I can imagine a wild arbor dance that has legs. It’s a good thing that leaves fertilize the soil if they can land in the right place; they replace the last remnant that they tree lost in making them. But actually deciduous trees are serial killers: they deliberately drain all the nutrients they can out of the leaves to save for the winter which kills the leaves. The leaves are flying corpses. It is fortunate that there are no mass gatherings of grieving people coming with their urns and releasing their ashes into the wind. It would be quite a dust storm, and not as melodic as leaves.
LikeLiked by 1 person
typo: their or the
LikeLiked by 1 person
I like that Doug: imaginative and true —
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great poem. Maybe the leaves are like the Vikings, not fearing the fall since there is a great Valhalla party at the end.
LikeLiked by 1 person
that is one fabulous comment; I smiled and chuckled when I read this in hospital 🙂
LikeLike
Lovely poem – full of energy and yet poignant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
a nice way of putting it,thanks:)
LikeLike
Very nice!!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely as always, John. They are certainly lively in the Autumn!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love this! 🍃🍂
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you
LikeLike