The summer leaves, so shiny, so green,

Bask beneath a golden sheen.

Then fade into the autumn air,

Their emerald hues now rich and rare.

Cool winds stir with gentle might,

Their golden glow caught in the light.

They shake them loose with wistful sound,

Each leaf drifts softly to the ground.

Their time is done-they float they fall,

A final dance before the call.

Yet in their end, a tale is spun,

Of seasons passed and a new one yet to come.

A seasonal poem from Peter A Moscovita
Books By Peter. LLC.
All Rights & Copyright @ Peter A. Moscovita
Date: August 28th .2025