Every season has its special beauty and autumn is no exception. Watching the trees turn from a uniform green to all varieties of gold, yellow and red is a spectacular experience. One can almost be blinded by the fiery brilliance. How can it be that all this beauty is sign of death and decay? With all this beauty there is a certain sadness in knowing that the changing colors foreshadow the arrival of a long cold winter.
Sing to me, Autumn, with the rustle of your leaves.
Breathe on me your spicy scents that flow within your breeze.
Dance with me, Autumn, your waltz that bends the boughs of trees.
This poem beautifully provides us an opportunity to feel connected with nature. As human beings, we have been born in the lap of nature, have grown under the protection of nature, but we’ve...
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Looking out my window
In October's golden light,
I see a beauty unsurpassed,
A truly lovely sight.
I agree and I like this poem. When I was a young boy, growing up in the South East, Autumn was my favorite season. I remember the chill in the air, the smell of freshly harvested fields, and...
Sun with his artistic touch,
streaks skies of blue with rosy blush,
trimming Oak and Maple too,
crimson reds with yellow hue.
Wow! I think you hit all the right notes. You painted a verbal picture that is very easy to connect with. I remember all of those things and colors growing up years ago. I like that you named...
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Golden, crisp leaves falling softly from almost bare trees,
Lifting and falling in a hushed gentle breeze.
Slowly dropping to the soft cushioned ground,
Whispering and rustling a soothing sound.
Letting go of painful things is probably one of the most difficult choices to make. But once you realize what your aspirations, visions, and ideals in life are- that these have become somehow...
I look outside my window and see the leaves
Changing color, one by one trickling to the ground.
Fall. It's in my grasp. My favorite season, the one I long for.
I take a deep breath. The crisp, cool, clean air tickles my nose.
Like crunchy cornflakes
Gold leaves rustle underfoot
Beauty in decay.
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November--
They say it is the month of death,
But I have never seen such beauty in decay.
I also love nature and especially Fall. I really enjoyed this poem, and I love your unique descriptions. To me, anyone who can describe nature like this is truly in touch with themselves and...
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
What a difference a day makes,
twenty-four little hours.
Cool chill in the air,
Misty mornings, frosted lawns
The wind is blowing a winter's song.
Changing colors of the leaves,
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