As careworn August bids farewell,
A quick and rankled tally’s taken
And chilled rain falling does foretell,
September leaves will soon be shaken.
The birds all sing their austere songs
Though, somehow rudely made to comply,
Geese are forming in their great throngs,
I suppose soon they’ll all wave goodbye.
And melancholy dreams will come
As, October leaves turn regal gold,
The apple saplings will look glum
As, mornings seem to grow ever cold.
Yes, all will bow to autumn’s grace
And soon enough the long days will wane
As, November’s nip slaps our face,
The Sitka roses, will be found slain.
And so lions of winter will roar
As, December’s wraiths sprinkle frost,
Some will scoff at coming snowy chore
As, ponds and lakes are froze and glossed.
Chimneys will bellow and winds will whip,
Chickadees will shiver in trees,
And beside fires we’ll sip tea and quip
As, winter’s spell brings a deep freeze.
And then we’ll wake as if from nightmare
As, joyous chickadees all sing,
To find that winter has gone elsewhere,
Shooed away by returning spring.