Autumn’s glory

In the dawn of autumn, the winds blow,
the leaves of the spruce glide against the golden sky,
and are waiting for the snow,
when September says farewell to August,
the field mice squeak with a sweet tweet,
the squirrels hop like gazelles,
the garden is brown-golden,
and the dewdrops are sweet.
 
The chipotle is burning in the pan,
while the kids play around.
The water is knee-deep,
the reflections are golden and brown,
as radiant as golden corn.
 
But you must not be frowned,
as you may see a hedgehog in your ground.
Its stubby feet kick the mossy floor,
as the apples of autumn fall,
and they lay flat and dissolve.