The big trees are turning hue,

And there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

The burnt orange and sienna,

The yellow mixed with gray and henna,

The streak of blue I see behind

Is just the sky laughing at

The foibles of mankind’s attempts at dishonesty.

We dye our hair and paint our faces.

We rue the day the graces made us.

But the big trees accept the winds that blow,

The undertows of the breezes,

This chilly currents that change the seasons,

The unknown and hidden reasons of the change.

They don’t complain but only quiver

While the river flows.

The range of colors merges with the night,

And their leaves mingle with autumn’s sweet palette,

And then they drop

So beautifully that I must stop what I’m doing today

And admire.

-jenn