They light softly, mango red,
papaya yellow, russet remnants,
leaves caressed by indolent ghosts
with boney fingers, tracing withered veins
swirling about in musky vortices
musing, cold as spring’s skipped stones
settled on lake bottoms.
Pumpkin orange sunsets,
wind whistling in the trees,
Autumn sings a lullaby.
Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2016