the golden leaf

By the babbling brook, I lay next to the old Oak tree where I once played.

Summer left late yesterday, it caught the last day’s train.

The gentle warm breeze where I once flew has turned slightly cool.

I feel the chill slowly seeping in, this summers been really great.

But like all good things that must come to an end, this golden leaf will just lay here and wait. To crumble and be blown away in the cold winters day, to some magical summer forest far away.