Generic

(dont cut them please) 
There are birds chittering to the leaves 
long gone and past, 
all the vibrancies between the summer 
of ever-last. 
Then, the silver stripe of winter pushed 
fall jauntily out the door, 
The rush of bitter cold I love so much 
jettisoned to the floor. 
Far along the the snow-smeared road I go; 
I walk the smokeless sky below 
and sing the forest song we know. 
The pond by highways' blissful side 
sends ripples like hidden clefs 
of soothing voice, 
they hear the pitter-patter of my feet that 
suits my way of choice. 
And when the animals, shy despite their wily grin, 
soon join with me to my chagrin. 
The melody that settles in 
of dusty teardrop watermarks 
of footsteps fallen in the yard. 
The telltale sign, the happy shard 
that holds me in regard.

There's Joy in the Trees