The autumn leaves fall softly down,
In a rustling carpet, gold and brown,
Nature’s farewell, a tender sigh,
As days grow short and seasons die.

The wind carries whispers of change,
In the chill that beckons strange,
While trees stand bare with stories told,
Of summers bright and mornings gold.

As twilight hints of winter’s chill,
The earth prepares for time to still,
Yet beauty in decay unfolds,
In every hue of red and gold.

• Andrej Ērgļs