Autumn King

Autumn King

Restless now, the King of Autumn kicks
Bright leaves with his pointed toes.
His stay on stage is a limited run,
Soon, upstaged by Winter’s first snows.

Quite a clown, he capers, scepter aloft,
Making sure his signature is on every frost.
He eyes the stagehands with their hooks. . . 
Knowing one day soon the King will be tossed.

Father Winter is a mighty ruler, a killing King
With no mercy for the weak or struggling one.
Winter is the time of death, purging the earth
Before the bold return of a weak spring sun.