Written on October 8, 2026
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Gasping leaves start falling on the distant hills Scent of cinnamon and rich harvest prayers Stir the silence of those gentle dewdrop tears A voice of praise, the wind sends its chills Impish squirrels play on the lawn, dancing together Rhythm of hope gotten in each nut they find Drifting from limb to limb, just as God designed Preparing their harvests for the colder weather As the mountains change from green to brown Fluttering leaves dance through the frosty morn We look to skies and see the clouds they’ve worn Know those graceful leaves will keep falling down
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