Specter of an autumnal scene

The specter of an autumnal scene
leaves me bereaved.
I wake to sunny skies
Who went to bed before sunrise,
Tucked in behind grey down blanket,
skipping work today
to frame smiles of early risers;
Lost are the birds, who, for a fortnight,
ripped across azure,
Together making kaleidoscopes
Of green, orange and yellow;
From my window,
A homeless man in black rag,
Encamped on a bench
Looks of a beetle that needs
To be ladled out of this misty
morning stew, not porous
enough to see through;
Pigeons squeeze in on ledges
Squabbling, scared to move,
Jostling and jabbing,
Paranoid of that last peck,
That will send them over
The edge, to their doom.