The cicadas hush their final song,
the daylight fades,no longer long.
A cooler wind begins to play,
and sweeps the golden heat away.

The leaves blush early,touched by flame,
as if the trees forget their name.
The skies turn soft with evening's hue,
a gentler shade of fading blue.

Sandals rest by the quiet door,
no footprints stretch along the shore.
The fields grow still,the laughter thins,
a season ends,and fall begins.