Melancholy joy

As the trees disrobe

Coy at first

Then flamboyant, as they strip

Letting their cloaks flutter to the floor

To stand stark against the skyline


The birds know too

The clocks have changed

It’s time to go

They swoop, regroup

Then form their arrows, pointing South

I root for the stragglers, left behind


The nights draw in

The heat goes on

The dark makes dormice of us all

We wish we too could hibernate

Instead wrap up, dig out our boots

And wish for swirling snow filled skies


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