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
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