With the hillsides as your canvas,
you flawlessly paint each and every leaf
with bright tangerines and russets
colliding with crystal greens:
A masterpiece of hues.
Splattering the sky with excess acrylic,
you create brilliant murals,
and as the sun goes down,
I cannot help but wonder
where you acquired such talent.
Such talent, it is
to sprout endless gourds across the land,
And sprinkle each and every dish
with a dash of cinnamon,
All whilst constantly whispering your delightful song
into the ears of fields,
The grasses swaying to the echo of your voice.
You do all of this in a matter of moments,
leaving me captivated by your technique.
Oh Autumn, you are the most marvelous creator.