And fresh and crisp.
The geese are heading south en masse.
A north-west wind blows through the trees
And yellow rain falls on the grass.
The sickly sweet decay of leaf,
A hint of wood smoke in the air;
Shadows falling long at noon
And summer dying everywhere.
Don't think of winter yet, close tight
Your heart's eyes; rather, while you may,
See fading sunshine and enjoy
The crisp delight of autumn days.