Well Versed In The Weather

Autumn leaves, autumn leaves
Caress the colours gold
While the squirrel chatters
At the passing wind.
An orphan cloud has crossed the sky
Calling out our name.
Follow the sun!
Follow the sun!
That is our cerebral cry.
Each stroke cuts the vibrant air
Flowing over skeletons of yellow maize.
How dry, how dry
This azure sky.
The night is soon to come
Daylight wanes with the season
And oh, the cold, the cold.