Through the gardens and the lanes.
Picking up, and swirling round
Leaves of orange, red and brown.
Gusting through each swaying tree,
Tossing apples till they're free.
Shaking conkers till they drop
And open wide with prickly pop.
The wind is dancing, full of fun,
Laughing in the autumn sun.
It tumbles acorns, fir-cones, leaves,
To make a carpet under trees.
© to Brenda Williams