The woods outside my window are war-torn.
Filled with red, orange, and yellow soldiers,
Fighting with each other, and themselves
over who can standout most gloriously.
A perennial war they fight,
from rounded treetops,
through jagged branches,
then to the dark moist ground below.
There’s no winning the battle of color.
All pushing, shoving, name-calling in vain.
Eventually all leafy soldiers brown,
and the snow hushes their clamoring.
Poetic Alchemist 
Nice!