The Pending Winter

Winter's coming, like it or not.

As the world shifts in subtle rumbles
Winter is coming
You can smell it in the air.
The wind and the rain have stripped all
But the most stubborn of leaves
From the maples and birches
Quelling  a brilliant display of orange
And red
And yellow.
It’s now a bleak tableau
Of brown
And black
While the gray, rainy weather
Stirs the plaintive moans
Of the denuded trees
That frighten the blustery night.