Down they come like multicolored rains,
In golds, reds and browns,
Implicitly beauteous, orange-dappled mosaic art,
Myriad of shapes and crowns.
Down they come in graceful manoeuvres,
Veiling burns and wound,
With regal Lady Autumn near,
Ornate confetti frame the ground.
Down they come, the fearless fronds,
Their endmost journey as now.
Down they come in a drunken stupor,
The earthlings of the bough.
With least resistance from the malign wind,
And goodbye to Guardian root,
Brave bracts, they leave,
Only to be crunched underfoot.