Thereís frost now on the pumpkin,
Hot days of summer gone,
Last minute tasks as we prepare
For winter that seems long.
We feel cold icy fingers,
Take note of signs around,
A skiff of ice upon a pail,
And geese make honking sound.
Tired and weakened sun appears,
In dire need of rest,
Now not able to perform,
Though still he tries his best.
Autumn was but passing phase,
With visit far too brief,
Hurried in, and then rushed out,
Like frightened, fleeing thief.
Mounds of leaves raked all in place,
Await the strike of match..
With blue smoke that then spirals up,
From each new burning batch.
Thereís barking from a dog thatís heard,
In far off, unseen distance..
Children don a sweater now
Because of Momís insistence.
With wide eyed wonder, now they stare,
At leaves that tumble down,
At blossoms with their color gone,
Lay still now, on cold ground.
Mankind feels a sense of loss,
From changes overnight,
Winterís chill hangs on the air,
And hurries Summers flight.
© 2003 Loree (Mason) O'Neil
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