Autumnal colors,
Russet and red,
Draped in a cape,
That covers her head.

She tucks inside,
The golden locks of hair,
Her mama told her,
To never bare.

A mist forms around her, ever so,
There, in the forest, unafraid, though.

They envelop her,
In a magical dance,
She smiles, happily,
This is not happenstance.

Knowing it is they,
Who come to call,
Every November,
Near the end of fall.

And this child awaits, ever patiently, their arrival,
For she counts on them, for her very survival…

©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Image by enriquelopezgarre from Pixabay