Everywhere is burning,
On ground - up high in trees;
I watch it all with joy
For such is beauty each year.
Fire flashing green,
Then flaring orange, yellow, red:
Embers are falling down around me,
Drifting, twirling, dancing.
Cold bites at my skin,
The air frosty and crisp:
Fire crunches under my feet
And fills the night with scent.
Alas, ‘tis not fire,
But leaves.