Sunshine and rainfall strike equal balance,
with cumulus and stratus crowding blue.
Autumn dawns by chaotic ordinance,
just like kingfishers wanter their purlieu:
dipping and diving past crimsoned maples,
though silvered water steams its hoarded warmth.
Young bucks dance on their childhood rambles.
How many will not live? Perhaps a tenth,
maybe more if first snows remain mild,
and greens linger long in their proper haunts;
perhaps fewer if coyotes go wild.
Wrens twitter at dawn, and mockingbird vaunts
with ballads plagiarized from other birds.
Tourist swans land, to sight-see without words.
Hope you like this one. It was fun to write.
