Why is the sky blue?
Or grey, or violet black, or yellow, 
or white slashed with great tongues 
of flames burning the world?

Why is grass green?
Or blue, or brown, or yellow, 
or splashed white with clover 
and the hum of bees 
called to the first great feast of spring?

Why do leaves fall?
Layered in secret on the forest floor
Until only bare fingers scratch the sky.
Or herded in a frenzy 
Before the winter wind
To pile in graves at fence rows
And burn as the last sacrifice of summer?

10/01/2019
Ramona Crawford