Colors beautiful and rich.
You make my skin itch.
Fall colors draped like a sash.
Just to brush up against you gives me a rash.
Around and round the tree, your a twister.
No! No! No! Blisters!
So beautiful. You don’t discern.
You make my skin burn.
Leaves of orange, yellow, and red.
On your leaves, I will not tread.
As your chlorophyll wanes,
your ability to hurt me maintains.
Itch! Burn! Blister! Spread.
You I surely do dread.
How do I kill you? You need to die.
From you I will shy.
Poetry & More 