November Skies

The leaves, --They Change, Their pigment fading, From Green to Red, Orange, Yellow and Brown, Gently falling, --Is their calling, To the colder autumn ground, And as they lay there, --As they stay there, Lifeless, dead, Lying like dirt, The rousing wind rustles them up, Making them dance and flirt, As they’re flying --and “goodbye”ing Floating towards A crimson view, Showing the November sky, The autumn’s eternal hue.