Latest poem, please critique?

Question:The Season Of Fall

I jog through the brisk morning rays.
The fog, that looms over us, stays.
The swirl of the wind blows into the old birch.
The hurl of the force makes the branches lurch.

The whiff of fall completes the air.
The stiff scent surrounds what I wear.
The hue of the leaves, color the world.
They, too through the wind, are hopelessly twirled.

The incandescence of the sun smiles on my face.
The dense trees block my view as I quicken my pace.
I tread on the dead leaves through the morning glory.
My head is finally done with writing this story.

Any and all comments are appreciated.
I'm notably looking for a better ending, open to suggestions.

~sig~
7 days without soccer makes one weak

Best Answer - Chosen by Asker: The Season Of Fall

I jog through the brisk morning rays.
The fog, that looms over us, stays.
The swirl of the wind blows into the old birch.
The hurl of the force makes the branches lurch.

The whiff of fall completes the air.
The stiff scent surrounds what I wear.
The hue of the leaves, color the world.
They, too through the wind, are hopelessly twirled.

The incandescence of the sun smiles on my face.
The dense trees block my view as I quicken my pace.
I tread on the dead leaves through the morning glory.
My head is finally done with writing this story.

Any and all comments are appreciated.
I'm notably looking for a better ending, open to suggestions.

~sig~
7 days without soccer makes one weak

Man, I like it.

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i like it will you critique mine