The Autumn Pyre

The trees set fire to the ground they die upon.
A beautiful sight of defiance from
A life that leaves without a cry.

And whilst the bark turns cold,
As the dry fire molds,
A black-veiled sky
Astounds the earth with wails that chill
All those who came to mourn
At the funeral held in memory of
The bend of the dying trees with
Their leaves sighing in the wind.