In fall the leaves are dancing
In the newly cool, crisp breeze,
Tumbling, skipping, flipping,
As they throw themselves from trees.

Twirling, whirling dancers,
Give performances each day,
Floating gracefully to earth,
In a circular ballet.

And as they land together,
Making not a sound,
They form a comfy blanket,
For the cooling winter ground.

By Joanna Fuchs