To Autumn

Love might break in at Indian Summer,
a mid-autumn drying then, and quick,
remember Madison on fire,
the multi-bright colored leaves,
votive candles, how they only flicker little
prayers for a past life, hold on for dear death,
would love to hang around for a new year,
but now, so long, these trees will bare in fall,
be hung by ice, turned oh so cold, two grew old,
and as nature goes, not a single leaf burned on.