Seasons

Of sultry air and cloudy skies
Are the days of late August,
Seemingly southward a lone goose flies
As if he’s the weatherman to trust!

Leaves atop trees still green and tall
Wait to lightly descend to the ground,
And the little robin sings, “It’s almost fall!”
Capering about the lawn all browned

A bush awaits its first chrysanthemum
As showers try to temper the heat,
Priming the countryside for vibrant autumn
As summer formulates a retreat

The air will soon be crisp and cool
With a hint of chill to suggest,
The sky will turn clear azul
With a color riot soon to manifest!