Sorry, I'm breaking my own rule about sending revisions, but what the hell, you only go around once in life, but you can go around all you want with a poem. MEMPHIS IN NOVEMBER A week ago the Gingko leaves shone yellow through and through it was as though their clarion glow came of inner luminescence. Now comes this show of letting go -- autumn's very essence. Skies so blue they startle you, no more the washed-out hue of summer, as gusts of wind send leaves from trees like bursts of joyous laughter. But in a week, maybe two, there will ensue a seasonal hereafter: skeletal trees and brown, riven leaves, unshriven, driven like refugees from an advancing army. Oh, see them flee. See them flee. Brought to their knees with pitiable pleas a whole generation of leaves 'passes'. Everything ends. But then, begorra, it all begins again. Mike Geary