Autumn

The bright green leaves are turning, the forests look like burning; cold weather is returning. The days are growing shorter, we're in the third year quarter; the squirrel becomes a hoarder. The stags in woods are clashing, after the does they're dashing, with raised white tales they're flashing. The black bears are fat and round; into deep dens they are bound, spending winter underground. Babbling brook takes its last run, before freezing has begun; must wait spring to have more fun. 9/2/16