The invisible fire of Autumn days,
Flares about among proud trees.
With their flammable decorations plays,
Fanned by a cool complicit breeze.

Stray embers from a fading Sun,
Ignite sweet vapoured air.
And once the blaze is thus begun,
No broadleaf will it spare.

A shake of orange moths takes flight,
All about quite aimless rushing.
Brief freedom, joy in late year light,
Unashamed whilst helpless blushing.

Then around our feet lie glowing drifts,
Their fiery warmth retained.
Which playful gusts vain helpful lift,
As if their fate yet unexplained.

In city parks and gardens,
Lawns with leaves are varied sown.
But all, this litter pardons,
A vast glowing crop new grown.

Then as bright days slow to winter fade,
Less light now to reflect.
They're subsumed into the half-year shade,
And to nature's cycle genuflect.

Scorching here and there at first,
Ignescence turns to flames.
In bonfire colours all soon immersed,
As summer gifts the earth reclaims.