Autumn is my favorite season,
The green leaves are turning red,
Falling with no rhyme or reason,
They are crisp, gnarled, and dead.
Lightly they fall in the chilly air,
The leaves are brown, orange, and yellow,
Brightly, they tumble without a care,
Indian summer days are beginning to mellow.
Gray clouds form, you rarely see the sun,
Through tree branches, see the cold wind blow,
The leaves come cascading down, one by one,
And, at any minute now, it could start to snow.