Natural Philanthropy

A limb of the maple
that stands mid-lawn
droops from the top edge
of the picture window, as if
it is weary at last
of it's summer load.

The leaves now gone
several shades of yellow,
look like gold coins
long hidden in a secret
treasury of the tree's
thick trunk, and which now are
proffered to me like the gift
of a philanthropist who,
approaching the old year's end,
is pleased to do what he can for the poor.