(a poem by 11 years old Emma)
Last few rays of
sunlight shine,
For the summer it's
no longer time,
Bright green leaves
fade,
To orange, red,
yellow.
The gentle breeze
grows,
Into howling winds,
The smell of dying
late summer rose,
Mixed with the scent
of musty fallen leaves.
Relaxing evening
walks in the park,
The trees on fire
with the golden leaves,
They're a tornado
rustling around me,
The night coming
quicker now, light to dark.