On the way home along the trail,
The nearby groove waves,
The luminous orange fluffs,
That cools the wandering air.
The leaves flickering combust,
As flames of fire before death,
They disperse their specks by air,
Before they fall and lie on earth.
Adorned in gold passing youth,
Beautifying selves with citrines,
As auspices that chase away the gloom,
Conforming folk move to their fall.
Lavish living on the verge of retirement,
Floods the pocket with wads of monies,
Coals are brighter than they never were,
When they inform their imminent funeral.