Poetry: Autumn Comes to Town

Nature Blossoms:
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In Autumn, trees turn
and leaves will fall.
A cornstalk may wither
in an alley hall.

It's the Age of Fall by
leaves itching to fall decreed;
There's a nip in the air
and nary a new weed.
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Flinging their colors wide
in towns many and small,
the golden trees help stop
traffic at corners and all.

Still houses watch well
through wires and light poles,
with cars parked at curbs
and near street pot holes.

Leaves continue their quiet turns,
even as limbs are clipped
to accommodate poles and signs;
ways of the street strip.

Cars trip along under paths
of mankinds' signs and wired tangles,
while Autumn marches on,
barely aware of sliced angles.
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Colors splash around devices,
splitting poles, signs, and wires,
forging ahead with their task
of pursuing Autumn's fires.

Constructed colors of roofs
red and gray cannot stand
up to Nature's hues among
those of bland, diminutive Man.

Man-built towns in Fall before
the leaves come floating down,
challenge Nature's tall sentinels,
with poles peeking 'round.

Signs, poles, and wires,
though strong and tethered,
are mocked by Nature's pillars;
her trees of splendid weather.
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Green have the town signs and
the fire hydrant; also yellow.
Nature's display, however, far
exceeds that of mankind's bellow.

Poles, signs, and wires on streets
of towns many and small,
scattered about, indeed, are short
of Nature's naturally commanding Fall.

A brilliant splash of red
speaks loudly of falling dred
to come, when Fall leaves
will pile high and spread.

Left to grow above the flag,
a sentinel shouts its fire,
announcing Fall that demands
again heavy leaf-raking hire.
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Yellow, green, and red together
say Fall is getting ready
to conquer streets of signs,
poles, and those wires steady.

Now bare, town streets soon
will share, not only miles
of concrete corridors, but
colorful, resilient leafy piles.

For now, the neighborhood
below the signs and wires
lies quiet while red invades;
but, alas, turning leaves aspire.

Autumn leaves of colorful cover,
after all, know not a master.
Yards and streets and signs
they aim laughingly to plaster.
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Leaves of Fall, yellow, red, gold,
eventually burst to conquer all
below their changing seasons
in little towns many and small.

Where wires, poles, and signs
once reigned in villages small,
crispy leaves, it will be seen,
will fervently fall to bury all!