Autumn patiently counted the days
As she fashioned her threads of gold,
She tirelessly spun her palette of silk
And waited for days to grow cold.
She lined up her spools of tangerine,
Kept an eye on the colour of leaves.
Then early one night, when Frost kissed the Wind,
She sat at her loom to weave.
While warp and woof were intertwined,
She hummed a contented tune;
Before long she finished her tapestry,
Inspected by light of the Moon.
The Stars all blinked their twinkling praise,
Autumn had done just right.
Her tapestry of crimson and gold
Would be wrapped round the Forest that night.
She winked at the Moon as she went to her rest,
She’d had an exhausting night;
The thread would be passed to Winter now,
Who would quilt a fine blanket of white.
