By Josie Whitehead
The teasing gusts of autumn wind
Shake sleeping apples from their trees
And leaves are torn from parent boughs
To drift and dance upon the breeze.
The golds and reds float quickly down
To form a carpet ‘neath the feet
And, gust on gust, they dance and skip
Along the pavements of the street.
The days draw in, the fires are lit;
Goodbye to summer’s golden rays:
The swallows flutter restlessly
And take their leave of chilly days.
The squirrels, active with their work,
Collect their nuts to store away.
Clouds drift past, the sun goes down –
The finale of another day.
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