An Autumnal Poem

The drupes on the dogwoods that bloomed
Aren’t the only red here in these shadowy woods
Because the maple leaves are turning now
In a few, shortening days the Almighty
Will dip a big hog bristle brush into
Paint the three shades of fire and let loose
With a thousand foothill-wide strokes
By rifle deer season, all but the evergreens
Will yield to the coming winter’s turn
Sunlight will reach the forest floor
And the trees will give back to the earth
Has it ever occurred to you
That the cooling shade doesn’t fall away
Until we don’t need it anymore?
And boy, does it go out in style

— Ryan Cornett