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.

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