Leaves, red, yellow, orange, brown
In the whirling of the wind
And the ears hear the sound
Bowing humbly, the trees bend
Migrations for winter’s season
Feathers fluffing for insulation
Songs are muted for a reason
Softer words for our conversation
Flurries and snowflakes
Swirling through the frost
Making of pies and cakes
Something found, something lost
With mittens, woolens, and gloves
Stirring embers in the fireplace
Remembering those ancient loves
As the flames warm the face
And angles of elongated shadows
Dance from floor to ceiling
Staring above the frosted windows
Smell of burnt wood reeling
Winsome and delirious
Dreams of milk and honey
Yet every bit as serious
As being without any money