Eleventh

I remember a cool Sunday morning
When all was silent but the wind
Which blew, blustered and swirled

In the distance a flag leapt and danced
It did not care for the drizzle that dampened my coat
Scarf wrapped tight against the November chill

Across the park an uncountable host
An army of leaves, all colours, all shades
Had been flung far from their berths

At some unseen signal they charged
Jumping and tumbling and rolling
Magnificent sight and my heart gladdened

But the wind fell, the charge failed
Barely a leaf had reached me
All lay dead and rotting in the mud

Saddened I trudged on among the naked trees
From afar I heard a snatch of bugle
And I paused, to remember