crisp leaves scurry,crunch underfoot,
trees almost bare,but for a few,
the wind carries a chill with it now,
turning naked hands blue.
swollen seeds thud one by one,
sycamore wings glide on the air,
gusts rid the final “hangers on”
and the ground fills with natures fare,
a feast,a welcome larder,
for icy,baron days,to come,
sustinance,a gift of life,
until the warming spring sun.

This poem was written/submitted by lynne hannah cannon.