Autumn Trees Poem by James Smith

Now it's autumn some of our trees
As celebration of the summer's ending
Pour golden rain across the ground.
Amid that noisy colour the quiet ones
Manage a discreet fall of brown leaves
And perhaps one can hear at dawn
The faint pattering of their soft landing.

In a week or two at most, the spectacle
Will end and we'll see again the tough frames,
The sinuous bodies, the rough skins,
Which decked themselves in all that finery.
The revealing dance is over for another year
And so they face hard winter pared to the bone,
Fripperies cast off, naked, tough, seasoned.