Colors float on gossamer wings
to splash Autumn, on all things.
Crisp cool winds my fingers bite
and swirl dead leaves, a dusty sight.
A hunter’s horn blows from the hill
while all the birdsong goes quite still.
Times has come for Tricks or Treats.
and small white ghosties filled with sweets.
Cry no tears for Summer’s sun.
Autumn’s brisk bright days have come.