• Crackle 'neath footfalls
    A river crimson and gold
    'Round Broken Elders of Arbor. Their stories untold.

    Called by the whispers of angels
    Like windswept feathers they fall.
    Our silent protectors;
    Atop the wings of heaven they soar.

    From their velvet embrace
    Warmth and wonder are born.
    Such is the splendor
    Of perpetual autumn.