Lass of Autumn

Quiet sound,
Of a lass,
As she walked,
Down,
Autumn's frequent path.

Carrying,
The horn of plenty,
Full of fruits,
And vegetables,
In her delicate hands.

Flowers adorned,
Her auburn hair,
Leaves of Autumn,
Fell from her dress,
She wears.

Squirrels,
Of red and black,
Birds in flight,
Guided the Lass,
Down this path of Fall's delight.

Every household,
Wherever they maybe,
The Lass of Autumn,
Placed fruits and vegetables,
On every rock, land, and tree.

The perfumed,
Smell of Autumn,
As she strolled by,
This Lass called Autumn,
Quietly sighs.

Making the way,
For Winter's bliss,
This Lass called Autumn,
Gives one last,
Wish.

To come back,
Next year,
After her brothers
And sister,
Have all disappeared.

As she starts,
To disappear,
This Lass called Autumn,
Letting her brother Winter,
In for another year.