In the amber grasp of Autumn’s hand,
When leaves like whispers softly land,
A tapestry of gold and red,
This season’s song is by nature led.

The sun retreats with fleeting grace,
Shorter days left to embrace,
A symphony of twilight’s call,
As dusk descends, and shadows sprawl.

The air grows crisp in sharp breath,
The herald of impending death,
Yet, in the chill, by beauty’s birth,
A canvas painted for the earth.

As branches shed their summer’s gown,
The world transforms, a quiet town,
In every leaf that takes its flight,
A metaphor for fleeting sight.

The aging sun, in somber grace,
Reflects the lines upon each face,
A mirror to our mortal strife,
By Autumn’s dance, an ending life.