Autumn in the Mountains
Late summerís shadows turn to fall,
Still wakes in me a beckoned call,
To trample through the crisp dry leaves,
Aft frost from seasonís first chilled breeze.
Turning what was once a forest green,
To mountains dressed in fiery sheen,
Of maple red and golden oak,
Flaunts their regal autumn cloak.
I watch a southbound vee of geese,
A romping squirrel through fallen leaves,
As sweet smoke rises from chimney spire,
Hangs like perfume in fallís cool air.
Itís time like this my soulís at ease,
A moment to ponder a bit of peace,
With one last chance to take a peek,
Ere winter turns this place to bleak.
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