Dancing the dance of the slowly dying,
your defiant grin is reflected
in every Jack-O-Lantern,
stitched, into every Scare-Crow.
You shower the ground in
a flurry of colorful confetti
celebrating your last moments;
a last hazza before unforgiving winter invades,
sapping your hardcore,
bipolar, middle finger-to-the-world spirit.
For you we give thanks
for having made it through
another memorable year.
Silence, to the sighs of the weary
Laughter to the haunted
Comfort to those who feel
Just as misfit as you announce to be
You, Autumn, are not summer or spring, or winter,
But a glorious, Fall.