Quietly waiting, Winter stalks November.
Waiting, just waiting, for Mr. Frost to steal,
What little Fall we have left.

Winter waits, in its’ white frozen corner,
To snatch the green from leaves.
To strangle all life dead.

My Fall, a bundle of reds and oranges and yellows,
Will fight for existence, battle for survival.
But will also always, always lose.

Fall will die and with it warm temperature,
Red leaves, pumpkins, life, and outdoor play.

Fall will fall out of existence,
Out of all our memories and lives,
Until it creeps back on us in Spring.
Where we will all be waiting, and watching,
For Fall to appear then leave.
Just like the year before.