Fickle Fall

In the other gardens,
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the Fall

By Robert Louis Stevenson

I see that autumn is fickle,

It can’t make up its mind.

With fog and cold wet mornings,

By noon the sun’s warm and kind.

That is why fall is fickle.

I got up this morning with a definite plan,

But the rain came down and soaked the land.

Instead of a fall festival with apples and cider,

I thought I’d stay home and sit in a glider.

But by noon, the sun shone brightly through the mist,

So I called my friend and said, “This day is not to be missed,

“Fall is upon us and soon we will shiver,

Let’s go and enjoy what fall can deliver.”

A sunflower field in our area was stunning,

With all the bright faces turned upward for sunning.

A vivid yellow bouquet now graces my table,

Reminder to go out to play while we’re able.


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