Fall has its own flowers;
instead of sprouting from the ground, they fall from the sky.
Fiery and bold,
delicate and whispy,
gaudy gum drops hanging perilously
from trees disrobed,
while blanketing the ground in gold.
“Autumn, I love thy parting look to view
In cold November’s day, so bleak and bare,
When, thy life’s dwindled thread worn nearly thro’,
With ling’ring, pott’ring pace, and head bleach’d bare,
Thou, like an old man, bidd’st the world adieu.”
~John Clare,”Written in November”