Of the heavens in the fall, without any fear
O’er the forests its blood dripped
coloring some of the leaves red
others turned yellow when fat splattered
out of the celestial cauldron as the hunters broiled
thus follows the Indian* myth about the season fall
before it ends, I yearned to see the foliage all
I drove down the highway, and walked through the woods
I viewed the countryside from the mountain peaks,
as I stood O’er the edge, and looked at the valley down below
I could see Burns and Frost, Blake and Marlowe
flora of the flowers wild, maple leaves in disarray
I envisage the forests become ablaze, flames would fray
in the colors of the fall; nature’s palette of red, blue and gray
I could see Pissarro and Renoir, Boudin and Monet
Breathtaking and exhilarating, a scenic vista at ev’ry turn
hypnotized and paralyzed, as I watched the forests burn
in the Carnelian Sun, the transient effects of light
never seen a portrait so brilliantly bright
’twas exquisitely picturesque, nature’s fine art
next I heard the symphonies of Bach and Beethoven, Schubert and Mozart
by the sound of the whistling wind, and the shriveled falling leaves
as they crossed the path of the blowing breeze.
– Sushil Sharma
