An out of season Poem

Just getting caught up here. Fortunately I haven't been very prolific...


November
The maple tree outside my window
disrobes by degrees. Long after
the others stand naked and stoic
in the face of what lies ahead,
she enthralls, burlesque;
her flamenco skirts cartwheeling
beside the buttoned-down
houses of my street.

As her plumage falls away, bony limbs
rattle in mournful percussion.
A bittersweet pall descends. The eye
longs to capture the last radiance
of the too-short season,
but the heart tightens at the approach of
darker days and restless confinement,
and is forced to look away.