Can you see the gilded cloak,
As lazy summer's spell is broke?
It flashes red, and gold, and brown,
o'er valley and the tall tree's crown.
A flash of white as bounding deer,
Run through thickets and disappear.
The placid blue of silent lake,
The silver flash the fish do make.
A chocolate blur of little squirrel's hide,
Gathering food for winter-tide.
Or perhaps you smell the crisping air?
Or of ripening apples are aware?
The musty scent of falling leaves,
and the swaying of the gold wheat sheaves.
Autumn is coming, can you hear?
The wind is whistling far and near.
And through the wispy clouds on high,
The geese are flying, side by side,
Warning of the chill to come,
As they go to find the sun.
The crackling of the leaves below,
Soon to be muted by ice and snow.
The laughter of the children small,
As once again they greet the fall.