Acorns pelt the ground,
littering the lawn.
She calls them small prophets,
warning of the cold to come,
though I suspect the trees
only speak of the past.
Tag: fall
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Red Oak
Leaves, once emerald, now ablaze in a fiery red,
Vibrant under the caress of morning light.
Proudly, it flaunts to the world,
The secret of its name,
Concealed across seasons, only to
Burst forth onto nature’s grand stage,
As our hemisphere gently tilts from the sun’s embrace.
The Truth About Tigers 