A green meadow sprawls out before you,
a crystal blue stream slicing it perfectly like a knife through butter,
dots of yellow alight themselves on the tops of the grass,
winking at you in the wind,
singing of their Spring forth from the earth,
their birth their first breath,

You feel the warm breeze brush past,
caressing your face as it slips away,
your cheeks glow with warmth,
a smile splits across your face as you smell the Summer air.

As you look on, your eyes glisten,
dancing shades of brown and amber,
like a dead leaf falling from the sky,
zigging and zagging as though a blur,
slowly falling, gliding on a pillow of air,
down to the meadow covered in a layer of brown,
wilting, dying, rotting hands of the trees,
twisted, shredded, torn up bits of nature's rough parchment,
lying here and there fading from this world,
they blanket the slowly rolling hills.

Up through the dirt, a million tiny hands,
each grabbing a piece and pulling it down,
too slow for the eye to see,
too fast for the leaves to free
themselves and each other,
like a battlefield of lying soldiers,
they Fall.

Mourning the fallen, she sends down her tears,
frosty cold that scratches all it meets,
vengeance of nature for sure you see,
the trees they howl amidst the cold,
barren and stripped and you see how old,
they truly are, their forms unveiled,
whipped and scraped by this deadly gale.

Soon it comes time for burying the dead
end the Fall in all its dread,
Gaia sends down her earth of choice,
to cover the leaves in their resting place,
if you listen close you may hear a voice,
simply a spirit singing their grace.

The white is dusted over the land as far as the eye can see,
all is made equal in the eyes of all,
none stands out for all is one,
the rolling hills become a single sheet,
peace descends and quiet falls,
the dead have been covered and they are gone,
Winter's work complete.