Since today is the first official day of Autumn, I thought Carl Sandburg's poem would be perfect.
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest winds comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
Come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the things go,
not one lasts.
Carl Sandburg , 1878 - 1967