In the golden realm of autumn's embrace,
Where nature's palette paints with fiery grace,
Falling leaves dance upon the whispering breeze,
A wistful serenade among the trees.

With each gentle descent, a beauty untold,
Their vibrant hues, a story unfold,
From fiery reds to hues of amber and gold,
A masterpiece in nature's hands we behold.

They flutter and twirl, a delicate ballet,
A symphony of colors in their grand display,
As they bid farewell to their branches high,
With grace and elegance, they softly fly.

In their descent, like dreams released,
They carry whispers of secrets, deceased,
As they land upon the earth's waiting floor,
They invite us to ponder, cherish and adore.

Each fallen leaf holds tales of what has been,
Of summers kissed by sunshine and serene,
Of whispered promises and forgotten dreams,
Of love found and love lost in endless streams.

Yet, amidst their beauty, there lies a touch of sorrow,
For their grandeur shall fade, come the cold morrow,
But as the leaves drift from their lofty heights,
They teach us acceptance; they teach us delights.

For in their graceful fall, we find solace anew,
A reminder of life's cycles, constantly askew,
And as we witness their dance in the autumn air,
We are reminded that change is both bitter and fair.

So, let us marvel at the falling leaves so grand,
Hold their fleeting beauty in the palm of our hand,
For in their descent, they carry the essence of time,
And in their whispering rustle, a poet's sublime.

Everything in life is a process
It’s more about letting go and learning to stay
There is no control
Only cycles and adaptation
Here’s the question:
Do trees cry when their leaves fall in autumn?
They mix into the ground
a blessing to the soil
a party for some passing child
Even the tree understands
that not everything is meant to stay
But from what goes away
a new beginning is born in its place

Can you hear my voice
screaming into the void?
Can you feel me loving you
in the silence?
Do you know me
in the blur between seasons,
when time loses meaning,
and memories breathe like now?

Green grass,
the scent and colors of wildflowers,
and on the face, a smile that remembers springtimes
while the sun gently caresses them
and bathes them in its warmth.

White daisies
dance proudly in the breeze
as if to say:
we are happy just as we are,
and need nothing more.

Summer’s heat weaves its fingers
and adds a shade of yellow
to the canvas of beautiful plants,
excessive and merciless,
while they beg for the last drops of rain.

Something has grown quiet.
Looking at those once-lovely blades of grass
I now see
an invisible thread that binds us
in the whirlpool of memories.
At times, a weary smile appears,
accompanied by restless longing.