Nothing Rhymes

Autumn brims with it:

every pumpkin

and tiger lily.

It wafts on monarch wings,

rustles amid fallen leaves,

and writhes in bonfires.

Warmth extracted.

Last gasp of summer

till only muted sun remains

in a frigid wintry sky.

We huddle up to Yule logs

and space heaters,

clinging to the Solstice promise,

yearning for a glimpse

of narcissus stamen

while mourning marigolds.