Late autumn,
You are a mystery,
An awkward time between two seasons.
You frost the ground with white snow,
Yet your trees still have the bright
Colors of fall’s hay day.
All of the migrators are gone,
The hibernators are almost ready to slumber,
The temperature is going from cold to colder,
And the flowers are gone ‘till spring.
Time is running out
For all of nature, the year, and you
Dear late autumn.
You are the alarm of the transitioning seasons.
Citations
Jesus helped me with this post. My mom revised and edited it.
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