A Poem About Sugar Maple Helicopters

have always fascinated me. I love to stand beneath a tree and watch as they break from their limbered prisons and let the wind take them away. I love the feeling of the thousands of twirling samaras falling toward me, and I love the sound they make as they fall; a sort of wooden clatter.

and here is one of the many reasons why. Now that the helicopters are are about to fall, I know the brilliant hues will be next!

The tree's red tints hint of fall
helicopters, helicopters.
of pairs and shares of seeds with tips
helicopters, helicopters.
The wind, it sways the copters all
helicopters, helicopters.
and shows a maples' merriment.
helicopters, helicopters.

The helicopters are fit to fall
helicopters, helicopters.
round and round they twirl and dip.
helicopters, helicopters.
I stand beneath to catch them all
helicopters, helicopters.
but fail and watch the copters sit.
helicopters, helicopters.