Losing Daylight

The leaves stand and cheer in a stadium of sticks,
afire with team spirit
in their branch-box seats.
How many stadiums in a forest?
My three-month mistress gilded them all,
slowly, carefully, one by one with her rays.
She cultivated my persnickety bloom that.
smelled sweetest summer sunsets.
I stand shivering beneath my leafy kin.
And we wave, excitedly,
as she sweeps the flaxen train of her gown
over us once more, one last long afternoon.

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