The trees now are turning so vaired are the shades.
Cool and clear the night soon ice will choke the glades.
Sad and mornful song in the distance cries a loon.
While on the shadowed horizon hangs the harvest moon.
Cloked by a stary blanket no image can contain.
As the north breeze whispers a lonely sad refrain.
The ending of a cycle its loop is almost closed
All of natures mysteries shall never be exposed.
jack green
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/natures-mysteries/
