All that’s green will turn to pale
As Fall sends her chilly winds.
Summer will have left no trail
Of the sunshine it still brings
The Sun’s flowers, looking down:
Their time has come, they’ve lived the hours;
Brought worship towards Autumn’s crown,
But all she brings are heavy showers.
Fall—because the leaves fall brown,
Dancing through her fingertips.
She picks them up and throws them round,
Then sets them free, while some she keeps.
Copyright © Andrei Cristian Caraiman