Trees all around have shed

Their coats of green
Donning instead their finest array:
The apple tree's branches are laden with bright fruit
And the young pine holds tight to his cones.
The white oak is majestic in his suit

Of flaming orange and fresh red,
While his lady, the cherry, proudly displays her berry jewelry.
Over all these towers the ancient poplar

Whose multitudes of red and gold hands are raised to exalt the sky.
One leaf, splashed in color, blown by a fickle breeze, loosens from the rest
And drops

Spinning, tumbling,

Drifting downwards

To lightly

Land

In

My

Lap.