here’s a festival held every year on the great midwestern plains,
fashioned into in the fabric nature weaves.
That celebrates the ending of the torrid summer rains.
to introduce the falling of the leaves.
The aspen, birch and hickory, the maple and the oak,
the sycamore and willow all contend.
They distend their gnarly branches like naked stretching arms
and toss bright colored confetti to the wind.
The autumn breeze plays melodies—October chills the air—
the moon casts spells, forecasting what’s he sees.
Announcing to the countryside a great terrestrial dash,
a marathon of lively running leaves.
Like a flower garden in the air of yellow, red and gold—
each leaf wears her most brightly colored hue.
And dancing away autumn while the snow is on its way,
the last leaf falls to whispers winter’s cue.
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