Autumn's Symphony

The afternoon sun of September
was flirting with the remains
of the monsoon clouds.

The ashes of the clouds were weak.
Their cinders couldn't reignite.

The last rains,
as September draws to a close-
they are like Schubert's symphony no.9.

They can't listen
to their own music.
They turn deaf,
shining brightest before dying
just like a dying flame.

They do get to see the applause.
After all, yellowed leaves
fall in appreciation.
But, their deafness fills them with anger.
Their composition on their own ears
falls with silence.
They see the notes clung on the staff.
They know each moment
when the movement changes.

The trees are laughing.
They're enjoying the concert;
Who knows
if they will survive the winter,
and the spring and summer,
to hear again autumn's symphony.