Slender branches silhouette
beneath his golden crown.
Sparks thrown out by the silver sun
ignite his flaming hues.
The autumnal prince towers above
ethereal mists, caught between earth and sky.
In a final flourish, passionate embers
of saffron and copper smoulder.
Only to cool as the light fades
and chill winds blow.
Each yellow fingered leaf, I mourn
as it falls and returns to it’s roots.
I will his warming glow to remain
to comfort my spirits during
November’s nip and winters depths.
Knowing my protests cannot halt
ruthless frosts from calling “time”.