Autumn Leaves
In the whisper of the wind, a secret's shared with me,
Through the rustling leaves of reds and golds and browns, a symphony.
Once green and vibrant, now sun-kissed, they dance and sway,
A delicate ballet against the canvas of the fading day.
They twirl, they twirl, on currents unseen,
A slow descent, a poignant parting from summer's warm scene.
Each leaf a tale, of days drenched in golden rays,
Now etched in the hues of a passing season's maze.
Some pirouette softly, to the earth's embrace,
Others spin wildly, in a more reckless grace.
They drift, they tumble, a colorful storm,
On the ground, a tapestry, nature's own norm.
A young boy, he gathers them, each a treasure trove,
His pockets heavy with the autumn's rich love.
He throws them to the sky, a confetti of the fall,
Each leaf a soft reminder, endings beautiful, after all.
The air now crisp, the sun dips low,
Casting long shadows, a gentle, melancholic glow.
The ground, a carpet of the season's spoils,
A testament to time's ceaseless toils.
In the leaves that fall, a beauty we find,
In the cycle of life, a peace of mind.
For even as they fade, their glory we see,
In the wind's whisper, the leaves' dance, and me.
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