The peach trees bowed with golden grace,
Raspberries spilled in a sweet embrace.
Yards alive with autumn's hue,
A fleeting gift, too soon withdrew.
Each morning's walk through amber trails,
Leaves that whispered quiet tales.
The sun sank low, the skies turned gray,
November stole the warmth away.
Yet in the cold, a tune takes flight,
Strings and notes bring back the light.
For seasons turn, and though they flee,
Their beauty lingers in memory.