Autumn jumps the gun
before calendar gives okay.
I walk to busstop to get my Sunday Lunch
with umbrella ready to hand.
Oaks and maples have no need
to study treatises on photosynthesis or
angle of incidence of lightrays
to know when to drop yellow or crimson leaves.
Neither does a squirrel burying a fat acorn.
The cheeky crow dances away in mock annoyance.
Her flockmates glide silently to land so beautifully.
She says they steal.
They say she shares.
(They do too leave traces in the sky!)
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