It’s fall so kiss the green goodbye.
The leaves turn yellow, orange, red.
Hear the ducks pass overhead.
Thank goodness for the pine.
It will not wither, will not die.
But stand through autumn, winter well.
A promise of a spring to come,
When everything returns to green.
A rhythm that is felt and seen.
With ear to earth the echo rings,
Of seasons past and yet to be.