In Autumn's breeze leaves tumble down-
Vermilion, crimson, bronze and brown.
The shim'ring oaks along the lane
Wear rainbow halos once again.

Bright bittersweet and woodbine twine,
Ripe grapes hang purpling on the vine.
Broad orchard trees stand bare and clean,
Their outstretched boughs no longer green.

Against the arching blue-hazed sky,
The smoke-curled wreaths of bonfires fly.
Brown nuts drop to the leaf-strewn ground
Where orange pumpkins now abound.

Full harvest moon-gold glazes all;
Night echoes crickets' farewell call.
We sing to God our hymn of praise
For His glorious gift of Bright Autumn Days.

Elisabeth Weaver Winstead

The earth has yielded its harvest;
God, our God, blesses us.

Psalm 67:7

Pictures from  WebShots

Song is Autumn Leaves