The End of the Summer
The summer’s end is upon us now, The leaves begin to turn, The air is crisp, the breeze a vow, That soon the woodlands will burn.
Golden and crimson the trees stand tall, Each a testament to time’s gentle sway, Nature’s painting, a beautiful call, To celebrate the waning day.
As the sun dips below the hills, And the stars start to twinkle in sight, I give thanks for the summer’s thrills, And embrace the coming of night.
- John Burroughs