Observing the sun arc over the wheat
illuminating each flaxen tendril,
the eruption of emerald branches
yellows then reddens then dies.
Cold gales wander the valley
as afterglow paints the skies.
Lament for autumn as it withers in frost
and day surrenders to the dark.
Io, Saturnalia with your rings of celestial dust
spiraling amid antimatter.
Come the fires of festive chaos,
we've candied gems to scatter.