Autumn Flame

Summer blossoms long past bloom,
As August green to orange turns.
The waking embers of Autumn’s flame,
Upon each canvas horizon burns.

This flame that burns, wild glows,
Casting colors to nature stain.
Beauty touches each and all alike-
Its brush the wind crisp and the rain

First falling leaves, the restless few,
Foreshadow this sprinkle the downpour certain.
Touched by red, by orange gold,
The bottom threads of Autumn’s curtain.

Summer back from the horizon east
Curls like paper by matches lit,
Until Fall’s colors, and the canvas fresh,
Like a stained glass mural fit.

From these crimson mountains drenched,
Dusk erupts to soak the sky.
What once was blue, and summer stained,
Is dripping now with auburn dye.

Across the fields, alive and wide,
Pipes the scent of Autumn’s flame-
Which with its brush in color’s crisp.
Paints in strokes too broad to tame