all of nature’s fading green,
and autumn’s waiting in the wings.
the august sun sets molten gold,
the last of summer to behold.
the harvest moon is coming swift,
first fruits soon to reap, to pick.
the trees with yellow branches bend;
their leaves will leave them for the wind,
but not before they flame to red,
the last sign summer’s gone to bed.
the clouds roll in, the fall has come,
ushered in by a quiet hum
of whistling winds and rustling leaves,
of acorns rolling off the eaves.
a darkened sky of clouds will yawn
till sleepy swallows wake at dawn.
when all the leaves their boughs betray
and autumn time is blown away,
all of nature will fade to grey,
now winter’s glory to display.

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