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.
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