The Fall

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.