The shrivelling crimson-coloured leaves
Tear way from their ailing branches,
To one by one relieve the tree
Freed, now a nude canvas.
The Poet who watches from afar
Smiles at the hopeless flora,
Trapped, suffocated by black smoke
Sapling murdered by her own Mother.
The choking mist discriminates not,
destruction to which there is no jury.
The blood-red bath of autumn leaves
are charred, aflame in fury.