On Prophecy Poem by Deborah Way

Trees rarely greet fall color as clusters.
Clusters come, gradually
and full-blown color, eventually.
But at first...
(while still the days are full of heat
and chilled airis but a thing of the deepest hours of the night...)
at first, is the inspiration of the one lone tree.
Somehow (it is for God to say when and how and which tree)
it makes the change.
Its branches as flares, flung outsaying,
'Yes, my color serves as prelude to winter's death season,
but whence comes this fear of change?
Is not spring ever chasing winter away?
So I'll wear my red and my purple and my orange.
Bold and brash, confident in the time for every purpose under heaven.
Though I stand alone for now;
still, autumn cometh.
Though some nearby me rustle their green all the more loudly when they see me;
still, I know...
Even now is the time to send the sap deep, and let the colors glow.'