Lush green density
In its Autumn
Wans to yellow
You can taste the smell of leaves,
Decay.
Giving over their nutrients
For next years' progeny.
The wind is now
Crisp and viscous.
That once lazy breeze
Picked up its pace
Between the Willows' limbs
Packed up its place
Amongst the Lily pads
And shuffled off.
Its only good bye:
The missing heat, the biting void of temperature.
One timely denizen dares to dwell there.
A tiny, microscopically spiny transient
Whose clarity depends on prism's refracting light,
Clearly invisible or some sense that's not sight
Were it not for it's great numbers
Were it not for it's mass disbursement.
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