Lingering light of summer gently fades.

Evenings wither into deepening dusk

and lengthening nights grow chill.

 

Swallows start to leave the gossiping glades

for warmer climes, to winter as they must,

and birdsong begins to still.

 

Then all too soon the summer’s green cascades

begin to turn to shades of brown and rust,

gently down from trees to spill.

 

So once again the verdant masquerade

is cast aside, so that they may adjust

to coming winter’s chill.