Now who would have thought that the sky could turn soupy?

As thick as pea soup, some would say,

When walking in woods, it can make you quite loopy,

A labyrinth fumble, all day.

The walnut is steadfast, its roots in the ground,

Some shivery leaves holding tight,

It sighs and gives thanks that it’s steadfast and sound,

As winter attacks with all might.

 

But not being selfish, the walnut  donates

A plush golden carpet of leaves,

Then huddles together and fearlessly waits,

Prepared to face chillier eves.