It was winding through the darkening night,
Not a train or car or person in sight.
It was winding through the moon-bathing trees,
Scattering used-to-be rainbow-hued leaves.
It was twirling through the brilliant dawn,
It would dance, and prance like a
newborn fawn.
It was twirling through the evergreen brush,
Becoming a (if even a little) more hushed.
It was no longer twirling nor was it winding,
It was leaving the forest, for a place
more exciting
It was leaving the forest for faraway lands,
Autumn has ended, winter's at hand.
Not a train or car or person in sight.
It was winding through the moon-bathing trees,
Scattering used-to-be rainbow-hued leaves.
It was twirling through the brilliant dawn,
It would dance, and prance like a
newborn fawn.
It was twirling through the evergreen brush,
Becoming a (if even a little) more hushed.
It was no longer twirling nor was it winding,
It was leaving the forest, for a place
more exciting
It was leaving the forest for faraway lands,
Autumn has ended, winter's at hand.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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