As sunset’s warmth descends to gold,
Upon Vermont’s hills, stories untold,
A beaver pond, serene and still,
Mirrors autumn’s hues, against the hill.

The maples, ablaze with fiery might,
Reflect their splendor in the quiet night,
The pond’s soft ripples, gentle play,
Disturb not the peace that ends the day.

The forest whispers secrets low,
Of leaves that rustle, soft and slow,
The beavers’ lodge, a tranquil nest,
A haven from life’s turbulent unrest.

The evening sky, a canvas wide,
Displays its art, with colors inside,
Soft pinks and oranges, purples deep,
A breathtaking view, the soul to keep.

In this still moment, free from care,
Serenity envelops, beyond compare,
The world’s din fades, as nature’s peace,
Descends upon the heart’s release.

The stars appear, like diamonds bright,
A twinkling show, on this autumn night,
The pond’s soft lapping, lulls the mind,
In Vermont’s woods, serenity is found.