The winds blew in

To my chagrin 

And stripped the 

ash trees bare.

 

October mourn

bequeath the storm

a million leaves

bejewel the air.

 

Rains like knives

Pierce the skies

palettes graying

Golden fare.

 

A pauper’s life

The joy, the strife

A stage of souls

ascend the stairs.

 

to leap at faith

On silver wings

and pluck the strings

Of winds’ chagrin