Fall Leaves Poem by David Welch

Flame yellow with a tint of gold,
flutters with bite of autumn cold,
on aspens and their birch cousins
are first seen when the fall begins.

Then scarlet fire will appear,
a blaze that won't inspire fear,
and deep crimsons of apple-hue,
add such richness to a view.

Next sugar maples, orange bright,
like morning color of sunlight,
the harvest-bringer's vibrant shade
soon dominates the forest glade.

And then the tourists come again,
I guess I can't really blame them,
the beauty of this display marks
a last hurrah before the dark.

I myself like autumn as well,
but to be honest, this I'll tell:
I much prefer when the fall leaves,
because I can get out my skis…