I've never heard a story told

Like that of autumn's melody

As leaves, like little coins of gold

Drift slowly from the old birch tree.

The reds of broad-leaved maple trees

Mix with the oranges on the hill

And seeds have wrapped themselves in fleece

To keep out winter's coming chill.

The apples, red as roses, taste

As bright and crisp as winter now,

And as the leaves fall; as they waste

The air smells almost aged, somehow.

And now, it is time for us all

To celebrate the dance of fall.