This is Me Being Literary

It's a poem. Never mind that close inspection reveals most of the lines to be utter drivel. It's art, man. Just feel it. Let it wash over you, like uh....uh...shower water. Yeah. Like shower water, man.

The trees are bleeding color,
Yellow, orange, dark red.
The sky above is granite.
Cold raindrops pelt my head.
There's a river in the gutter,
flowing swiftly toward a drain,
And the sidewalk is a puddle
of dimpled, mirrored terrain.
The worms have left their harbor;
They've come above to die,
And somewhere leaves are cooking
Smoke twists into the sky.
There's sorrow in the air today;
it quarters discontent.
Arriving on a bitter wind
comes summer's last lament.

In answer to your question, I have no idea why someone is burning leaves in a rainstorm. Seems foolish to me too.