The Dancing Leaves
The wind is whispering, a soft, cool song,
Through branches reaching, swaying, long.
Leaves are rustling, tumbling, swirling down,
In a golden dance, across the brown.
The sun is setting, painting the sky,
With hues of orange, purple, and high.
Birds are singing, flitting, taking flight,
Leaving shadows, fading, into the night.
The world is sleeping, dreaming, still and deep,
While whispers of wind, softly, keep.
And leaves are falling, drifting, slow and slow,
Into the darkness, where the dreams grow.