Burns

Autumn burns searingly, softly

as a page embracing a flame.

Resistant heat fights to stay alive, relevant.

Insistent cold climbs through the air trying to take hold,

but loses its grip on the violent south winds.

Autumn burns. A sacrifice to summer in hopes that

winter or spring might be allowed to stay.

Summer is selfish and will not go. It fights

like a child before bed.

Autumn, I wish I knew you as others do.