The bright yellow-green leaves
Flutter like butterflies struggling
To to hang on to the weak branches
As the fierce wind surges through
The diminutive tree.

Rain weeps loudly from
The silver gray clouds that
Blanket the sky completely,
Snuffing out any chance of sunlight.

The golds, auburns, and bright reds
Litter the ground, making a
Colorful, abstract mosaic.

Too soon, I think. Too quick
The weather has changed from
Summer to fall. Winter's voice
Is whispering to the trees, a
Warning it gives. I am coming.