The wind softly whispers
A secret song in my ear.
The orange and red leaves,
Signifying the trees beginning their slumber.
A slumber in which they do not wake up
Until the first flower blooms.
But until then, we might as well enjoy
The mellow rain.
The plants, the crops,
And the bright red apples
Because Autumn whispers a secret song,
Only few can hear.
The Swerve 