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.