By Ingrid | Featured Contributor
The song of Summer’s ending
Lament to lost enchanted days
Sings in the early autumn winds
And rustling leaves born on the breeze
And echoes through the avenues
Of the early turning trees.
The parting hymn of Autumn
Sung soft into the evening wind
Sighs mournfully, and solemn
Leaving not a breath of warmth behind
It lilts and moans
In tilts and groans
The falling leaves to find.