The sky above is alive with flying clouds of color

Some might say I’m biased, but Autumn bests the Summer

Nothing holds a greater beauty

The poetry and despair of slumber’s colors blooming

Soon will come the cold

For now I’m basking in the warmth of orange, red, yellow bold

Truth told, we’re much like kin

Standing out the most before the fall takes us again

We then must start anew

Budding even after spending most the year subdued

Muted grays and tired browns

Waiting for the warmth to come and bring life to the boughs