Autumn

The bite of the air and the crackle of leaves,
The smell of the woodsmoke as it curls 'round the eaves.
As the lead goose calls, the rest honk their consent
While the frost wilted flowers nod a summer's lament.

And I, too, nod and lament the late summers passing.
And relish not the winter's soon trespassing
Into my yard, my life, my love and my rhyme...
For winter and death close the circle of time.