Autumn

The wailing winds frail at summer's lush green foliage as October freckles leaves, lips gently part in rouged gasps with flesh that veers to purple like bruised peach skins, hands now age-wrinkled in brittle brown bark are webbed by twisting veins, contorted and spiralled, beneath a canopy of gilt, flecked in brass shards.But listen to wailing gnats, whining in winnowing winds that break a vocal chorus in coarse croaking that croon about past joys now faded as night descends and shades, trunks then root my corpse into life's cold clinging clay, despite the erosion of ages, crimson clouds in auburn coiffured tints fade as swallows gather shadows.