Roses Withered Poem by Adam M Snow

Fall has come, I see roses withered
with timely settled of fluttering birds.
The golden colors of fallen leaves,
upon the grounds and upon the eaves.

With whistling winds a joyous tune,
an eerie light from an Autumn's moon.
And underfoot fresh acorns fallen,
with the scent of Summer's last final pollen.

Masks wearing children, running door to door
carrying bags of sweets hoping for more.
The echo chirps of the southbound geese
the sight of that flight, wish it not ceased.

I think of the crisp, clean air
and laughter's from an Autumn's fair.
A feast prepared for a family's gathered
around the table and around a smoked bird.

The smell of smoldering leaves
and the first snowflake upon the eaves.
The mixed golden shades within the trees;
the season has come, I lay with the stars at ease.