Willow Song

In a quiet golden haze,
Summer’s sun sinks to its knees,
and Autumn takes center stage. 
All full of pomp and circumstance;
leaf-peeping paparazzi at the ready
to catch the parade.

Majestic maples
strut with a royal swagger,
red rubies in October’s crown. 

Ostentatious oaks
stretch their limbs,
the cloak of flamboyance on every hillside. 

Silver diamond birches
dangle their fiery fingers,
the debutants of Frost’s forests. 

Until the first frost descends,
and rough winds will shake 
the darling pride of Autumn.

Barren branches hang
Closed for the Season,
and the choral Oooh and Ahhh silence once again. 

November, come she will.
Only the willow’s leaves linger,
Spinning slowly down and down, singing their own song - 
La de da dede da - 
to cover the ground
in a quiet, golden haze.