Is seeking and waiting,
For the chill in the air, that shivers down your spine,
For the sound of the crunch of amber leaves underfoot,
Leaves dying in a Godly beauty, before they reach their final destination,
Sunset before seven, the aroma of the breeze is like Heaven,
Bittersweet apple, in the far distance among the trees--you hear a cackle,
What's that? Who's there?
That's the sound of Autumn's flair.