When the
breeze blows,
Whispers and
howls
And caresses
the trees,
When the
leaves tremble
And in swirl
they leave,
When the
marks appear in pond,
Sharp round
curves cut in
By the
ever-blowing wind
And spread
around is sweet
Quiet melancholy,
When your
imagination
Fails to
outstrip the reality,
Then it is
the call
Of yet again
returning Fall.
