Autumn

I wont be here tomorrow,

Morning's first light will not show me

These undulating hills,

Or the fiery hews in the highest reaches.

In clear, warming air

Autumn announces its intentions,

Dancing with the soft vibrant branches,

That shows a tinge of radiance,

Presaging not the cold winter,

But the coming of such colors

That staggers a determined non-believer.

Today the red maples

Play with my soulless atheism,

Laugh at my prerecorded arguments

That accept only chance.