Another, longer piece of poetry on autumn as I remind myself of the good things that this season brings. (Hint: I prefer warmer weather.)
The maple trees are burning red,
The elms not far behind them.
Everywhere that I may turn,
The trees are full of color.
Though fall is said to be decay,
The season where all dies.
There are still such lovely things,
A funeral to be proud of.
The birds they say goodbye to us,
They sing their final songs.
The animals they change their coats,
They prepare themselves for winter.
And in gardens, forests and fields,
Nature shows its final bounty.
Berries, mushrooms, roots and things,
To collect and save for later.
The mornings they are rimmed with frost,
Frozen puddles crack and split.
And children can amuse themselves,
With the piles of fallen leaves.
Then on the day when autumn ends,
When the trees are bare and naked.
Those leaves they make a blanket warm,
To protect the ground from snow.