Response to Autumn

Tela Purcell 

Autumn grows old with grace, as aging ladies try to do, 
yet reluctant, she stays proud of her flamboyant streak.
Both guided and undaunted by experience,
she enlists each volunteer twig to model coloured leaves
that launch her annual cap and hat collection.
 
Autumn soon laments, "Each time I redesign my rainproof shapes,
make hat racks of the willing trees, dry wind, the culprit,
mocks my presentation, steals my best, tumbles them
to rattle over forest floor, tosses most like rags in heaps,
musty compost for November's rot.
 
I beg for softer, longer days! Wind, the rogue does not relent.
What is an inveterate milliner to do? A genius with styles
revised or new, in velvet reds, maroon or sunlit pumpkin orange,
I have given cause for wonderment,
inspired artists for their canvasses.
 
To ease my loss, preserve my reputation for posterity,
I commission artists to record my bold creations.
Brushes dipped, in your own fashion, before all goes desolate,
make haste with painterly intent.
Save my extravaganza that wind and time conspire to wreck.
 
From threatened beauty, abstract the fiery life;
some like red hot coals that flicker to a melody,
some a sparkle of lemon-lime in morning light.
Save space for contrast as I have. Brush in mellow, sable browns,
rust and speckled Umber, spotted gold and grey-edged, palest yellow.”
 
Comes the response, "Dear old charmer patroness, laugh with us
in the face of thieving wind, his pranks net him low regard.
Autumn, only fade snow-whitened and retire a while.
Your return is always in demand. As long as paintings hang,
so will your inspiration live, your leafy marvels glow. and like house flags in your honour,
display your trademark motifs while you sleep.