Leaves forgotten, adrift on the ground,
Amidst the autumn’s whispering sound.
Once proud and green, they’ve now turned brown,
Their life cycle has come tumbling down.
The trees they shed, a cloak of gold,
Their branches, bare and stiff and cold.
Nature’s canvas, a painted scene,
Autumn’s beauty, a sight serene.
The air, it’s crisp, and smells of fall,
As nature sheds, a final call.
The leaves they rustle, dance, and sway,
A final tribute, before they fade away.
The sun, it sets, upon the trees,
As autumn’s breeze starts to freeze.
Leaves forgotten, scattered, and worn,
Their final journey, now reborn.
