The blazing summer sun finally sets
Beneath the ground and crust of the Earth,
And the moon arises, delivering a colder touch
On the atmosphere which shall give birth
To the Age of Orange, though also bearing red and yellow
Its air shall no longer be so moist;
And with temperatures unfit for activity,
Insects return to dormancy, in what is the opposite of rejoice
So the civilizations of leaves atop the trees begin to die,
Each falling a fluttery fall,
Akin to a spotted lanternfly landing
One after the other serving as a pall
For their fallen comrades, which must be where the Age of Orange gets its name,
That being Fall, paralleling with what landed Lucifer in hell
And later on in this Age some may dress up as him,
Or bear a turtle’s shell, on what is formally known as All Hallow’s Eve,
Or Beggars’ Night, if you will
Forged by fabrication, superstition and myth
Some preparing months in advance ‘till
That Day, then around a moon cycle later
Celebrating one of the numeral anniversaries of colonial advance
Turkeys are brought about on their farms
Not knowing whether they’ll live or have their necks met with a lance,
Serving a fate similar to that of King Louis XVI
All for the ‘resolution’ of having traditional dinner later in the night
But as merely a few days fly by like seagulls on the prowl for food,
The Age of Orange has met its end
And unto the Earth comes white sheets of snow to brood.