The trembling leaves sway and tumble down,
their autumn home resides on the ground;
'Till the furious wind-gusts charge ahead,
and soon the leaves build a perfect bed.

Piling on top of the yellows and browns,
the reds are as bright as a circus clown;
Squirrels crawl through looking for acorns,
then silently settle for evergreen's pine-cones.

As the rays of sunlight begin to fade,
and trails of clouds soon find their way;
When tumbling through a crimson sky,
shedding their fears as night passes by.

Now at rest they tumble no more,
they've drifted to town and then to the shore;
Where playful gulls sing a haunting tune,
and new leaves reflect the autumn moon.