The Incredible Silver Birch III

In autumn's grasp, 'neath golden trees, A tale of spice unfolds, if you please, Amidst fields where pumpkins lie, A latte's tale 'neath harvest sky. Beneath the gilded, amber moon, A brew, infused with sweetest tune, Cinnamon whispers, nutmeg's embrace, In this cup, autumn finds its grace. Frothy whispers of autumn's delight, Ignite the senses, a cozy invite, With every sip, a tale unfolds, Of harvest dreams, where warmth holds. A symphony of flavors, dance in the air, Cloaked in spices, a taste so rare, Gather 'round the hearth's warm glow, Where pumpkin spice latte bestows its show. Amidst the rustling leaves' soft chatter, We sip this brew, as if nothing else matters, A fleeting moment, a seasonal delight, In pumpkin spice's embrace, we find respite. As fall's ephemeral hues softly fade, The memory of sips lingers, softly swayed, Until the next autumn's gentle kiss, We'll cherish this brew, in reminisce.