November Romance

First frost came two weeks ago

just before Hallow Eve’s day.

Garden leaves now drab olive,

spiny twigs, withered fruit,

coupled with curbside pickup.

She drags final smoke of the day

outside – under crescent moon,

bonded with romance novel’s

happy end and embracing

shadows of weeping willow.

She hears the little bugger.

Creature should be company

for pale grass.  Instead

like a guide for Bocelli,

the bold cricket song echoes

promises carved in darkness;

devoted, faithful, courter-

knight in authentic armor.