To Arthur in Autumn

The tree flamed orange, yellow, green
and the flame returned to leaves.

The tree was overjoyed with yellow apples,
fruit-happy in the sun.

The tree was a bank of yellow flowers
that made witty the grass.

The tree was fired with autumn,
scattered with old bright leaves.

*

Arthur, you stood in the sun
and now death robs you of colour.

Your life was streaming with people –
that light-held warmth is gone.

Oh see the colours of autumn
before they die, and you die,

and a holiday fire will blaze,
and the flame return to leaves.