The woods are brown and the trees they are bare,
Seductive and mysterious, a chill in the air.
The feel of the earth, so crunchy and soft,
I walk them alone, the cool morning frost.
Anticipation awaits us, change we will see,
An eventual white blanket, will coat every tree.
It’s as old as the ages, as sure as the sun,
The coming of winter, another season is done.