The air is brisk
It blows strong and quick
Blowing,
Blowing,
Blowing.

The aspen trees quiver
Making a peaceful noise
That calms the mind and soul
It puts to sleep
Everyone around
On a clear and starry night.

Butterflies start to
Appear more often
Collecting the last
Bits of pollen.
The leaves are changing
Changing their colors
To orange, gold, and red
The season is working its magic.

Now the leaves
Start to scatter away
Each going their
Own separate ways
Although they do not choose.

Its getting colder
The air is dry
The butterflies
Cease to fly
They sense the oncoming
Snow.

The leaves have lost
All of their beautiful color
Now they are dry and brown.
Children build massive piles
Of leaves
They jump into these piles
Creating a racket
Of crunching tin cans.

The snow comes down
The silent signal of winter
And thus
Fall ends