Autumn leaves are lovely things,
IN shades of red and gold,
But they presage another time,
When summer has grown old.
When frost paints silver fantasies,
Upon the bare, brown hills,
The green in summer, freely spent,
The gold of daffodils;
When brittle leaves in burning heaps,
Perfume the keening breeze,
That searches aimlessly, a wraith,
Among the tattered trees.
Unlike the autumn leaves that fall,
And sadly fade away,
Love blossoms brightly in the heart,
To warm each passing day.
~ Julie E. Jones
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