Beneath the hush of twilight skies,
When golden sun in silence dies,
A softer voice begins to weave—
The whisper of the autumn leaves.
They tumble down in rustling grace,
A fleeting waltz, a last embrace,
Each one a tale the forest grieves,
Spoken through the falling leaves.
In amber light and shadow deep,
They stir the dreams that branches keep,
And secrets drift on twilight's breath,
Of summer's life and winter's death.
They speak in tones both crisp and low,
Of harvest moons and fires' glow,
Of winds that chase what time retrieves—
The stories told by autumn leaves.
So pause and listen, heart grown still,
To wind's soft song upon the hill;
For wisdom flows where beauty cleaves—
In the whisper of autumn leaves.