Autumn wears
a patchwork coat
it stole from
bits of Summer
strung together
by the silkworms
not yet in cocoons
underneath the
glowing orange eye
of a harvest moon
Autumn does not
pause in snatching
bright scraps
for its pleasure
knitted in a
soft deep pile
and treasured
beyond measure
quick it dashes
fleet as breezes
flashing its coat tails
spinning whirls
of flying color
far behind it trails
its new trench coat
dragged through gutters
pieces gather there
children chase its
remnants daily
laughing without care
until winter comes
a calling
with a frigid blow
and all that's left
of Autumn's coat
are tatters in the snow
soon..the
icicles are needles
through the white
blankets they go
pulling frost slivers
behind them
sharply
stitching winter's woe.
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