The Artist of Fall

When night awakes sooner,

and the stars become brighter,

Fall descends onto the land.

Soon enough, winter will bring its false sand,

until then, the leaves paint the sky-

as the trees and wind begin to sigh.

There’s a slight chill to the air,

as clouds peer down at the land without a care.

Fall dances with life and death,

as it slowly kills the once green leaves.

With this new death, it’ll bring new life.

Fall gently whisks away the last of Summer’s-

gentle warmth from the land, preparing-

the animals for the winter that’s raging-

on the horizon, bringing its cold.

Fall paints the landscape beautifully,

throwing yellows, oranges, and reds onto-

the portrait it’s trying to paint, bold-

blues and purples paint the horizon,

as the sun begins to quickly set,

showing the eager stars, as they glow.

Fall paints the chilly breeze in misty grays-

as it knows the morning fog will paint-

the land in a ghostly pale white curtain,

that’ll haunt the mornings until Fall,

always the selective artist, is satisfied with its art.