Fall

There is a breeze through the trees
that whispers “September”
reminding the leaves
it soon will be time;
they sigh with regret
that summer is over
they rustle and argue,
“we’re still in our prime!”
but the oak knows how coldness
can weigh on its shoulders
how easy it topples
when hit by a squall,
it speaks to the leaves
with a voice full of wisdom;
“you are the reason
this seasons called fall.”