Fade

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.”

Autumn

Framed by darkness Illuminated by light A mixed composition Is the cycle of life; Seasons of change Some welcomed…some not All have a purpose Lest we forgot; Even the rainy days That block out the sun Help ignite the color In the next autumn to come.