Cotton on gold with spots of blue

November skies, falls’ signs accrue

Wet leaves glued on every path

Complex designs, beyond man’s math.

Breath of frost in nostril hairs

Gloves are donned, our lightest pairs

Just enough to ease the feel

Of gripping car cold steering wheel.

Coffee and cocoa, a nod of rum

Winter’s march, a distant drum

Hands held out, towards fires’ heat

Suffuses warmth from head to feet.

Rustling sounds from piles of leaves

Hay in fields and corn in sheaves

Songs of birds, in South migration

Their wings display no hesitation.

Scent of smoke from homes nearby

Ponds’ first ice, too thin to try

Grasses turned to yellow straw

Kept company by crows’ sharp caw.

Autumn paints with colors bright

Quickly splashed in days’ short light

Trying to stay glum winters’ grip

As time, the season’s pages flip.

By James Geehring

From: United States

Facebook URL: https://facebook.com/jamesgeehring