Autumn whispers a season’s change
With a cool, crisp, refreshing breeze
Trees begin their slow and bright burn
Trading their greens for a fiery turn.
The hills are draped in a copper haze
While every leaf in the forest plays
A riot of amber gold, crimson, bronze
Nature’s canvas luminous and grande.
There’re beauty and grace in the drift
It’s unfair to call ‘a fall’ but a quiet gift
This world is like a grand shifting stage
We are just lines on a changing page.
Nature takes spring and falls with ease
Man too can conduct with same grace
The magic is not merely in holding on
But in letting go too if it follows then.
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