Whispers of Autumn

As leaves descend in golden flight, And bid farewell to summer’s light, The chill of morn, the breath of fall, In nature’s weave, we stand in thrall.

The trees, once rich in verdant pride, Now donned in hues that swiftly glide; Each rustle of the fading leaves, A tale in whispers, autumn weaves.

In fleeting days, we find the grace, Of time bestowed in sweet embrace; For in the garden of the heart, Change blooms anew, where echoes start.

• Philip Webb