The golden season emerges stealthily
Without warning and growing intensity
Branches previously clothed in suits of green
Now in flamboyant reds and oranges they preen
This beauty is a treasure, a technicolour screen
Waves of gilded confetti flutter in the air
A finale of magic and movement beyond compare
A simply stunning swan song, nature calling
For all to witness the summer’s curtain call
With branches bare from the last leaf descending
Taking their bow at the end of the fall