The leaves turn gold, a fiery glow,
Whispering secrets the winds bestow.
In the quiet morn, the frost takes flight,
Painting the earth with a silvery light.

The harvest moon rises, soft and grand,
Casting shadows upon the land.
The trees stand tall, in robes of flame,
Autumn’s beauty, never the same.

Paths of amber, where we tread,
Softly crunching beneath our tread.
The crisp air sings a mournful song,
Of summer’s end, and nights grown long.

In twilight’s hush, the world holds still,
A fleeting moment, a gentle thrill.
For autumn whispers, soft and low,
In its embrace, we come to know.