Autumn, as many perceive it,
Is a season of fall.
But for me, it is-
The breathe of spring, long awaited.
For it is part of the year when leaves
From timbers,
Leave their yearly abode
And unite with the loam,
As if they are in love,
With the earth, beneath.

Falling leaves,
Yellow, black, pale,
Sometimes green,
Barge in the dew wet realm.
And after the long wintery sleep,
Cradles a golden reap.

-Mamta Dorbi