Look ye, look ye, the proud forest
has been humbled. Its crowning glory
is no more. The wild winds of Autumn
have torn the beauty of its fall colours
from their tenuous perch to fling and
scatter them from their green summer
heights to the receptive forest floor whose
own familiarity with nature's eternal
blueprint nestles and nurtures the fallen
leaf mass, the nursery that pampers seedlings
to become the mighty oaks, maples, willows
in perpetual resurrection where saplings
of bass, hawthorn, elm, poplar and beech
prepare the new generation thriving among
the junipers, pines, spruce and fir whose
needles have dropped yet will remain fully
clothed to welcome winter. That oncoming
juggernaut of cold and rampaging winds, of
sun riding across a frigid sky clamped tight
in blue exchanging rain for snow plumping
a bright mantle of pillowy white around
the serenely sleeping landscape of winter.
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