Moonsong At Apple Time
The moon told every living thing,
About the autumn equinox,
One shining night ago.
Its white-gold light sang the news,
To silent trees.
The wind began to whisper,
Rumors of their colors,
That will soon cascade,
In countless shades,
A cacophony of wavelenths,
So bright,
That nature's winter symphony,
Of white,
Can play by their light,
All the way to spring.
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