Autumn Sonnet

Autumn Sonnet

I hate to see the woodlands flirt
In Mother Nature's annual farce.
Trees coyly lift and shake their skirts
Leave old, dead leaves to litter grass

She KNOWS the frost and snow will come.
She KNOWS the weak and old will die
But still she thinks we are so dumb,
Again we'll seek pie in the sky.

And so this weary, unloved year,
Wends on towards its death, Goodbye.
And autumn will not warm nor cheer,
It is no beacon in the sky.

For Autumn means no more to me,
Than dying leaves blown from a tree.