There they stand bare and cold
The wind has stolen their finery
Creating a beautiful carpet of gold
A wondrous sight for the eye to behold.
They are not dead but just asleep
Somehow they know the cycle to keep
And come the spring they’ll show their hand
As one by one across the land
A myriad of greens appear
And with their strength they’ll show
No fear of gales and storms and
Wind and rain - it is their time.
The summer months go slipping by
June , July , August, September
Autumn arrives once again
And once again it’s time to surrender
To Brown, Red, Russet and Gold
The days grow short, the air is cold
And beneath the wondrous carpet of gold
They sleep again.