In the quiet woods where shadows play,
The autumn leaves begin to sway,
Whispering secrets of the past,
As the days grow short and fast.
Golden hues and crimson light,
Paint the evening with delight,
Rustling softly in the breeze,
A symphony among the trees.
Memories of summer’s grace,
Fade away without a trace,
Yet the beauty of this time,
Turns the season into rhyme.
As the nights grow crisp and cold,
Stories of the year unfold,
In the quiet woods we find,
Peace and solace for the mind.