The trees undress like dulled commuters,
Their golden rags discarded, with no regret.
The gilded sun performs a final set,
Squirrels stash nuts like frenzied looters.
The breeze recalls old reels, summer brats
Of hangovers, parties and 6am warmth
A leaf descends, marking the darkened dawn
It lands, exhales, and joins the leafy flats.
Yet people clap for autumn’s masquerade,
Joke it’s quaint, rom...
