Autumn Poem by B.M. Gidde

The fire blazes on the mountain tops,
Swallowing up all of the trees except pines.
The warm air has gone,
But the cold not yet come.
When I wake up,
Frost is lightly covering the browning grass.
When the sun rises high,
I can feel the icy breeze on my cheek and the golden warmth of the sun on my back.
I walk over the spent, frail leaves as the sun vanishes to the west,
I smile, knowing that winter will be here soon.