Autumn Song

These are the days of falling leaves,
The days of hazy weather,
Smelling of gold chrysanthemums
And gray wood smoke together.

These are the nights of nearby stars,
The nights of closer moons,
When the windy darkness echoes
To crickets’ farewell tunes.

— Elizabeth-Ellen Long

Autumn Fancies

The maple is a dainty maid,
The pet of all the wood,
Who lights the dusky forest glade
With scarlet cloak and hood.

The elm a lovely lady is,
In shimmering robes of gold,
That catch the sunlight when she moves,
And glisten, fold on fold.

The sumach is a gypsy queen,
Who flaunts in crimson drest,
And wild along the roadside runs,
Red blossoms in her breast.

And towering high above the wood,
All in his purple cloak,
A monarch in his splendor is
The proud and princely oak.

— Unknown

October

I ride the plumed October,
The swift and lofty steed,
His mane is gold-encrusted
And jeweled are his eyes;
His bridle flashes fair,
But Oh below I hear his hooves
Hollow on the air.
His nostrils spew white hoarfrost,
His eyes spurt bits of flame,
He rears and strikes the treetops
And snorts the leaves away;
I cling the high October
And vault him through the days,
But Oh below his hollow hooves
Strike ice upon the lanes.

— Patricia Hubbell

A Thanksgiving Fable

It was a hungry pussy cat, upon
Thanksgiving morn,
And she watched a thankful little
mouse, that ate an ear of corn.
“If I ate that thankful little mouse,
how thankful he should be,
When he had made a meal himself, to
make a meal for me!
Then with his thanks for having fed,
and thanks for feeding me,
With all his thankfulness inside, how
thankful I shall be!”
Thus mused the hungry pussy cat,
upon Thanksgiving Day;
But the little mouse had overheard
and declined (with thanks) to stay.

— Oliver Herford