A Swath of Gold

A gleaming swath of gold appears When I look down below. From here, not one thing interferes With Nature’s autumn show. For down 9 stories, there are trees With dazzling yellow leaves, Though there are never guarantees, Despite what one believes, That year to year that lovely view Will be exactly thus, Since sometimes when a storm’s a‘brew, There’s nothing to discuss. When wind and rain join forces, they May strip those branches bare And we don’t have the slightest say To keep that yellow there. Yet this time, we’ve been sent a gift, For every window glance Gives me a cause to smile, a lift That Nature sometimes grants.