Autumn: Poetry

The glorious death of vibrant trees is bittersweet,

Before their leaves dive to the ground,

In one last attempt of growth,

They transform into shades of amber, coffee, and sunshine,

Soon they will fall, decay, become brittle and bitter,

Crunching under the feet of weary travelers,

Breaking apart slowly to bring nutrients to the earth,

But for now, they are the dying trees' crowning glory,

A bouquet standing tall in the chilly air,

One last burst of color to remind us of the spring and summer,

Before the entrance of frigid temperatures,

Summer gives an encore in its last curtain call,

As autumn ushers in the season of barren bleakness.

Let the rain wash away my fears,

Enveloping me with a blanket of calm,

As warmth embraces my soul,

I wait for peace to seep in,

Though turmoil still rages outside,

Like a violent thunderstorm with no end,

I will remain inside my quiet fortress,

Relishing the stillness,

And, in this moment, all is hushed.

The vines creep around the house,

Dying to be noticed,

Wishing for one last touch before autumn,

A chill runs down my spine and I shiver,

In the cold, my cheeks blush,

The trembling leaves mirror my actions,

Shaking, screaming with color for a moment,

Until they leap to become a crumbling heap of ashes,

The same color tabby cat purrs and runs to me for warmth,

Or is she a panther, stalking her prey while she can,

For soon, the mice and squirrels will hide away,

Seeking shelter from the frostbitten air,

When dismal grays and icy blues turn fall into nostalgia,

All will freeze in time until the green of budding spring.