Autumn Morning

The air is clear and crisp and cold,

Trees are turning red and gold.

Night chill slowly fades away

As morning sun takes over day.

A squirrel runs across the street

Hoping he'll no traffic meet,

With a nut held in his jaw

To bury with his tiny paw.

Geese fly south within their V

Hoping soon new lands to see,

Where tropic air will warm them till

Where they left has lost its' chill.

Leaves float slowly to the ground

Making not a single sound.

The land is waiting quietly

For winter to come silently.