In Michigan's early fall, the air's a different tune, Red leaves like embers glow beneath the harvest moon. The green gives way to brown and yellow takes the stage, A crispness whispers softly, "Behold the changing age."
Morning mist lifts gently from the lakes so wide and grand, A golden quilt of foliage lays thick upon the land. Yet as the sun ascends the sky, it casts its warming spell, A cozy, amber hug that says, "For now, all will be well."
The orchards brim with apples, and pumpkins grace the field, Farmers markets bustling, bountiful their yield. Though daylight's warmth still lingers, in twilight's cool we find, A prelude to the chill that will soon be well-defined.
So let us savor every hue, each whispering autumn breeze, The scent of woodsmoke mingling with the rustling of the trees. For soon enough will come the snow, and winter will lay claim, But in these golden moments, fall's beauty stakes its fame.