Autumn Sonnet

September hangs like apples on a tree,

Clothed in patchworks of ochre and russet,

Morning mists and muted shades of sunset,

Her cloudy face a solemn shade of grey.

Grass is seeded and weighs heavy with dew,

Capturing footprints in a damp embrace.

Spiders leave intricate gossamer lace,

A necklace of droplets reflects the hue

Of every leaf before they fall and fly,

Cover the earth in a mantle of fire,

A gift to Summer: her funeral pyre,

Fanned by the wind with a kiss and a sigh.

Promise of Winter is left in the air

Suspended from trees whose branches are bare.

Bare branches

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