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Sullied pale petals
Rust-edged with risk
Drift slow with intention —
Hem to fingers brisk
On coppery bottoms
Mounds swathed in detritus
Our fragile frames sheathed
Yet they never can right us
As Clouds of wild ochre
Fill blind thudding skies
And we peel off our bark
With shuddering sighs
Which then conker concerns
With delectable spikes
A blustering whirlwind
Of vestments takes flight
Tumbling russet red foliage —
We’re some work of fire
Acorn becomes oak
As we harvest desire
There’s a fumbling and foraging
Amongst leaf bestrewn roots
As we slip through wild woodland
Disregarding our boots
And we meld into marl
On this crisp equinox
Trying vainly to hold up
Our pants and our socks
Chilled trysts holding wrists
Spark bonfires of delight
As we fiercely clutch fast
To our chests and nuts tight
Knee-deep in rouged leaves
Skirted loins they are hiked
To kingdoms yet to come
‘Fore the frost of age strikes
Then time in our eyes
Clocks this amber mandate
We must gather our bounty
Not yet hibernate
And the whole world’s ablaze —
A sky-rocketing feat
There’s no trick laid down here . . .
For this autumn’s a treat!

 

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