Light green and gray round spots stain the oaks' bark;
Showing plain the dappled cold October color-mark.
Breezes blow, and chat with leaves, painted by sunlight,
so many greens, warm browns, and rich dark reds.
The forest sleeps, Rest here my love.
Sad yellow leaves float aimless down
To earth, whose color turns warmly brown.
Stone grey limbs, quiet, cold, tell the sycamore's grief.
The age of man's life is defined
By the softness and width of his smile,
And the freshness and breadth of his mind.
The essence and good of life's mile
When it's tired time
The kitchen door opens; and stress
Is gone. A soft smile sublimely
Warms my heart. When our lips are pressed-