Autumn in the Mountains

Autumn in the mountains.
I walk this path today.
Softly singing her lament.
Come snow I will not stay.

Yearning yellows rusted reds,
on lofted boughs to hold,
should complement the bluest sky
kaleidoscopes of gold.

A small death may turn these leaves
into the warmest glow.
Yet bits of emerald want to cling
to the life they know.

Autumn's in the mountains.
Am I like the trees?
Burning cheeks are apple red.
The result of cold crisp breeze?

Autumn in the mountains.
Winter's on its way.
Sweet chickadee flits past me,
sing-songs along her way