The Transition of Palettes

Touch the soaring leaves of autumnal gold, What canvas can capture such grains untold? As the King Midas touch runs through their veins, A November palette fusion now reigns See the Old Oak standing erect and tall? Its broad leaves a cascading waterfall, Season impressionists blend the hues, That overthrows the deciduous blues Smell the rustic damp of the fallen leaves, As the Willow wipes tears without her sleeves, Drooping with envy at the evergreens, Who mock her without her tender lush greens Hear November lull for the next season, To December, silver sage of reason, Who will wrap around her chilled crocheted shawls, Preparing the palettes before Spring calls 01/12/22 Quatrain poetry contest Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger