Leaves
Dry
And
Balance
On
The
Trees
Until
A
Breeze
Takes
Them
Down
To
Form
A
Carpet
On
The
Ground.
Roses
Shed
Last
Lingering
Bits
Of
Red,
Brilliant
Cosmos
Brown,
Fade,
And
Soon
Are
Dead.
Winter
Will
Sweep
In
Again,
Just
When
I thought
I’d
Won
This
Time,
To
Make
Summer’s
Glory
Last,
So
Fall
Will
Never
Come
To
Call,
And
Steal
Away
It
All.