Autumn Is Fleeting
In fields there near the painted trees
the last of greenery holds tight.
Beyond the mountains to the seas
soars one spare robin fast in flight.
Now amber waves are giving way
to sunburst orange and ruby reds.
And in the middle of this fray
young fawns are ousted from their beds.
There is a crispness in the air
fragranced with crackling leaves and pine.
A bounty of Fall's beauty where
the apple cider tastes like wine.
This favorite time of year shall pass
and Winter's sharp chill will prevail.
When ponds transform to sheets of glass
and painted landscapes turn to pale.
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