I’ve pondered oft on the beauty of fall

The fantastic oranges, yellows and browns

Collected in mountains upon the ground

Where children leap for an autumnal ball

Though to my great discomfort I recall

The death reflected in the crunching sounds

A sign that winter is soon to come round

And devestate the trees of orchards tall

How strange, this omen of certain demise

Still thoughts of purest serenity gives

Though just beyond it the brutal frost lies

There’s something in those colors that forgives

The annual blackening of the sky

And shows that even in death, something lives