The King of Spring you do not know

Even if the cones are not born green

Don't their hollow browns reflect the Dusk's moonbeam?

No matter the berries lost their Velvet

They wrap in December, the Sultry Soil in Blue Quilt

Remember?? You threw like a whore the dry orange rose

Look above, Its tiny  stem is knitted on the nest of Black Crows 

And then you churned the yellow treeless bunch of Leaves

The same bunch canopies a versatile creed of dormant seeds

You set your boat ashore when flakes turn to lake

This Purple Que Parasols the fish from snowy Pellets and hail

And your Chariot staggers to go near the gothic smoky Grove

But you Cant see, A rainbow wreath of peacock elves shield the roof   

But You do not Know...

But You do not Know...

Even In Autumn the Crippled and Murky shadows

Taller and Taller Grow

For in Autumn's World

The most Adverse is the most Prosperous...

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