It creeps up on the land like a cloudless sunrise
Spreading its tendrils of ice ridden air
Gracing the leaves like a wisp, finer than smoke
The leaves turn to red, brown, and gold
As if kissed by the sun itself
They fall from their life
Settling upon the ground, waiting
For someone to walk by but yet
Turn around, giving a second glance
To pounce on the foliage
To relish in the satisfying crunch
Autumn is here, autumn has come
Named rightly after the Fallen, the flung