A Sonnet to Autumn

"You old October rain, damp'ning the leaves,"
I say, dismayed, forgetting killing frost's delayed.
Hues bright belie the leaden sky that grieves
warm summer's carefree times when whimsies played

We see, the one who mourns the balmy eves,
may bask in warmth that Indian Summer brings.
Bright, sunny days that accent dazzling leaves,
distant skies, with migrating birds' brave wings.

Oak leaves, red-edged, staunchly scorn to fly,
while saffron elms submit, with showers drenched,
Bright hues belie the weight of leaden sky,
like flames whose vehemence cannot be quenched.

So needed in dry summer's torrid days,
rain brings its respite still, in long term ways.