Autumn

"Dear Autumn", Summer said, "please choose a name
that's shorter and much easier to spell."
And Winter added, echoing the same:
"Indeed, please do, and simpler in the tell."

"I like my name", said Autumn, but the Spring
chimed in with its characteristic charm:
(the rumor has it, they've had quite a fling)
"C'mon, dear Autumn, truly, what's the harm?"

So Autumn, thus persuaded, worked to choose
a name that would be pleasing to the ear,
and easier to spell among "who's who"'s
and worthy of a poet's doting cheer.

But on occasion, it enjoys just Autumn.
The leaves descend, as always, to the bottom.