Spare no lament for the maple leaves
that, defying their impending fall,
play blazing gold and scarlet concerts
bright as Christmas bra** in marble halls.
Boldly their radiant finales resound,
oblivious to sweatered figures below
doggedly cleaning up after d**h -
leaf smoulder coaxed into piles
by treble scraping rakes.
Steamy plumes from cocoa mugs
blend with burning oak and maple wisps.
The rakers chant their own sweet airs,
“The colors were great this year,
didn't think we'd had enough rain.”