The rusty orange color
spotted with browns
clinging to life,
floating gently to the ground

wrinkled and crinkled
the leaf feels like leather
slowly it's dying
it's only the weather

such a lonely time of year;
the trees without leaves
they dry up and shrivel
being blown 'round my feet

as I watch them dancing
in the sharp cold breeze,
stinging my cheeks
and shaking my knees.

Pumpkin seed scent;
the smell of Fall
sprinkled sunlight
splashes them all.

yellows, reds and purples
the colors of their death,
so beautiful to our eyes
but to our hearts, maybe not yet.