Red, orange, yellow, golden trumpets,
Dotting hillsides under pictorial sunsets,
Sounds of summer fading with the times,
Keep pace with the ever changing climes.
Mother Nature is forever a restless child,
A free spirit wandering out into the wild,
But always returning to that familiar view
Where she started her annual rendezvous.
Summer sounds hushed by the northern wind
As the rhythms of the weary crickets give in,
And golden trumpets play autumn’s prelude
With convincing melodies and forthright certitude.
Yes in deed, autumn has arrived.