The summer sun fades away as the leaves yearns for it,

Once again, it's that time of the year...

The morning sweat settles for a chilly sweater,

Lucious trees loses their vigour,

But ripens the apple become,

The aroma of grandmother's pie,

And O the dreaded leaves picking,

Get your broom, it's time to dust our sweet summer away,

Earth rejoice as we gather alltogether

For the harvest season's ball.

Also, this is what frustration looks like: