what scoundrels
these spoiled-brat
autumn winds

huffing, puffing
whimsically lifting
the checked skirt
of nature itself
spinning
their windswept feet
among
the ancient oaks

carefree oaks
with limbs swaying,
dancing like gypsies
embrace
the azure, adorned
with a radiant sun
half-drunk
always celebrating

illuminate
the frivolous leaves,
falling
blushing
in freshly painted hues
of orange, mustard yellow
and red
such a joyous mosaic
of reverie

what scoundrels
these spoiled-brat
autumn winds…