Autumn of Monica
Monica walks where amber
branches bend,
And autumn paints the world
from end to end.
The maples dress in rust and
burning gold,
While scarlet stories of the year
unfold.
A copper breeze drifts softly
through the air,
And scatters amber ribbons in
her hair.
She breathes the crisp and
quiet morning chill,
As purple shadows lengthen
down the hill.
With every step on pathways
dry and bright,
The dying leaves reflect a
golden light.
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