Autumn haiku

Sometimes it seems like a good idea to let go of the strict syllable count, though not always.

At my doorstep
In the autumn chill
A dead bumblebee

Three haikus

The changing seasons always seem to beg for conciseness. And it is National Poetry day.

Seasons are not rounds
Each reflecting the other
Then why these same sighs?

Fall is upon us
Old winter waits patiently
Counting cricket calls

Bees make love
To the last blossoms
Of summer

A slight cooling tinge
A small cricket weariness
Sings autumn to the trees

A haiku this ain’t
Even though the syllables
Tumble properly

The night suspended
Hangs like a paper lantern
A whiff of jasmine?