Too soon autumn’s child will appear
There in the fog he’ll disappear
Clad only in the fruits of fall
In orange, red, tan, rust and all
Colors lively shouting my name
Inviting me to join their game.
The air so clean it halts my breath
Speak not of season’s coming death
As flying leaves come tumbling down
To rest at last upon the ground.
There’s time still left to spar and play
We’ll make the best of each today
Before the chill of winter’s drive,
Too soon the snow and sleet arrive.
Claire V. Bogdanos 