The leaves up North turn brilliant orange, red and gold.
Down here, everything just turns grey and desolate as the rain
The fast pace and the millions of people
Living and eating
Their consolation of excellent cuisine.
The South has shiny, luminescent beach days when the sand
Strikes a pose for the Sun's bright pictures.
There is no one at the beach except
Those from up there
It's too cold to breathe.
Fall arrives as the respite from storms
And desperate measures
To keep the roof
New York and Miami are those cities
Where everyone arrives
But when they make it
They leave to their suburbs
Where the streets
Are more forgiving
there is a semblance of order
The police tend to be around all
Like victims of circumstance
Who can't seem to escape
I will stay forever in the garden
Growing tomatoes in the shadow
Of the hundred year old oak
Amidst the weeds and the tiny
Butterflies who are