The forest floor rustles
as the hooves fall upon,
the scattered, rusted maple leaves
on the first autumn morn.
The little robin flies to trees
and tweets its little song,
hiding in the foliage
when autumn comes along.
Trees are almost stripped to twigs
getting barer with the breeze,
the cold beast howls in distance then
and engulfs the only ease.
Winter is coming this way
and hardships it would bring,
while I will just embrace the fall
and take birth as sun-kissed spring.