The autumn’s dream may keep its dying grace
With flecks and shades of bleeding leaves and  yellow.
The cold wind's scorch may wither the green’s space,
When fruits of green a bit more need to mellow.


And autumn’s tear on every leaf perceives
The cold wind, which scorches green so cruelly,
Till glass fleck shade of bleeding yellow leaves
The living world to meet its ground so coolly.

And autumn’s red may silence the bird’s voice,
When shivers of the tree the rain embrace
And nature's hide, having no other choice.
The winter slowly comes showing her white face.