My Cells

My heart must play the drums
My breath an ancient flute
My creaking joints join in
I sometimes wonder if my cells
Could hear it all
Would they 
Enjoy this symphony

Last Fall

Leaves of saffron and marigold
mingled with canary and rose,
some shattered, some frozen
within the mud and early snow.

The scent of chilly air and soil,
the sound of familiar voices
rising up at once to a roar,
the feel of gloved fingers below,
all fused becoming something new
that grew more and more distant,
but she enjoyed her last fall; every hue.