Covered by fallen leaves
And orange pine needles
Once green;
Acorns on the ground
Become lost treasures
To be found;
By squirrels
Who prepare
For autumn’s sundown;
When a pointed finger
Issues an icy demand,
“Colors, fade.
You must follow
Winter’s plan.”
Jessica M. Collette 
Oh, so true! Beautifully written..again
Appreciate your kind words! 😊
The flow of the poem is amazing!
Thanks so much! 😄