Arizona Autumn. Poem

Here in Prescott, cottonwoods,
are scarlet from the fall;
in stately groves they rise,
as big as they are tall.

The leaves, a carpet stirring,
rustled by an autumn breeze;
they’re dancing minuets,
as pretty as you please.

The ducks cry from the water,
startled by our feet;
and in awesome rush they rise,
and in the air, they meet.

November passing quickly,
gives sunshine in piecemeal;
the chills of coming winter,
in these days begins to steal.

But nature is the prize we seek,
as seasons change their mood;
fall is but the moderator,
seldom harsh and never rude.