Hour 2: Ablution of Autumn

The sky, a single cloud unsundered

Casts desire over leafy crowns

Which grace the head of Mother’s matrons

And gild the brows of Gaea’s patrons

A longing to undress


Their summer clothes so lately lush

Grow itchy ‘gainst their knotty skins

To alleviate the inflammation

A wondrous curse of transformation

Leaves modesty forgot


The ornaments once cherished so

First grow jaundiced, then

Burning with a fever fall

Shedding ‘til they’re naked all

No longer vain and proud


The metamorphosis complete

They feel the bite of frigid air

Huddling together bare

And balling fists of woody digits at

The sky, a single cloud unsundered

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