The maple tree

At dusk,

The sun capsized reluctantly

Beneath a hill

That chased verdant shadows,

And where butterflies had

 Flapped nervously

Like sailors escaping

A sinking ship.

I walked jauntily,

Whistling through leafy greens

And crunchy browns

In a night

That had become as purple

As plump grapes -

- Startling a maple tree

Whose branches

Were in mid-autumn

I watched it grow

Into a silent

Crimson blush

As if I’d stumbled upon it

While it swooned

Towards the spruce and pine.