A Box of Diamonds by Ken L. Jones

The leaves let go and explode
Like a Chinese paper umbrella twirling
As the wind tears them from their trees
And sets their hobo feet to moving
Autumn has endless trains to ride
Its tracks go on forever
And coagulate in the round house of winter’s depths
On a December dark and somber
When hours seem so frozen and so preset
As all becomes a veritable icicle hymn
In the frozen rays of a rising dawn
That has the rhythms of a grandfather clock’s
Rusty innards as they connect and grind
With a sound like Brunhilde’s battle cry
Echoing in the Wagnerian forever
With notes red-hot and tough as leather