A couple of weeks ago I posted my "Fall Colors of Texas" poem.  It went like this:

     Leaves fall down

     Turn brown.

     It's fall.

     That's all.

Many of my readers expressed appreciation for that work of art, and my Texas readers understood it well.

In the process of trying to write the poem I eventually entered, I wrote a couple of others that were not quite ready for competition.  This is one:

AUTUMN COLORS

In high summer days it’s hard to get serious

about the oncoming season and how mysterious,

that when trees thick and leafy in oak groves are granting

to dogs old and young, who are drawn to it panting,

rest and refreshing in its gentle cool shade,

don’t notice its leaves beginning to fade.

Bright red is the sugar maple’s glory

but gold and orange tell their own story,

of how chlorophyll’s needed to keep the leaves green.

If we didn’t know better we’d think it was mean

that this sun-scorched land would take what is pretty

And turn it plain brown—monochrome, dirty.

It makes me wonder--inspires me to utter

that the One who suffers no sparrow to flutter

without his knowledge, will be still be around

when our purpose is finished and we fall to the ground

                                 and turn brown