Season of My Heart

As fire makes leaves wither,

So does the decay of fall forces leaves' crisp curl.

Decay, a word of death,

Yet sweet, succulent aroma of Autumn.

In their death, the bright flesh of trees,

Descending in a dance,

Singing haunting tunes,

Hold human eye.

Wide eye of the moon,

Shed gaze on stark limbs.

Screeching scream of owl,

Chill a child's bones.

Fall I cherish you,

Season of my heart,

In your leaves I may find rest.