Novembers tunes

 
Summers strings, fade, flourish and cascade
then! autumn`s movement with its brash
slow movements swept with sun and shade
woodwind and the trumpet's brass

The choir now stands tall and proud
their golden voices raised caroused
the choreographer of wind
in synchronicity they swing.
boughs gyrate like the baton's pulse
leaves falling, dancing in downward waltz

A carpet formed for each to crunch
for their gavotte twirled and bowed
grace and elegance, that fell to mulch
bare dancefloor where they hung so proud

Cheered encore, to a capricious Indian Summer
floating greyscale clouds, puffing breeze
timpani, stirred the gilded ponds from slumber
conductor, Jack-frost waits with a zero freeze