One sleepy eye after another,
the sun shines from a different view
winds fragrant with cool delight
something tells me it's not the same.
The days seem to whisper it.
The nights just sigh their response.
As leaves fall to the ground,
the silently dawning red sun
sparkles on their golden hue
and beckons the change.
Morning clouds drift by silently
acknowledging the bright start
trees shudder off their golden brown rags.
Gnarled branches twist around
the skies have never been so white.
By dusk they turn all grey.