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.