The Air Is Cool

And fresh and crisp.

The geese are heading south en masse.

A north-west wind blows through the trees

And yellow rain falls on the grass.

The sickly sweet decay of leaf,

A hint of wood smoke in the air;

Shadows falling long at noon

And summer dying everywhere.

Don't think of winter yet, close tight

Your heart's eyes; rather, while you may,

See fading sunshine and enjoy

The crisp delight of autumn days.