When the trees their summer splendor
Change to raiment red and gold,
When the summer moon turns mellow,
And the nights are getting cold;
When the squirrels hide their acorns,
And the woodchucks disappear;
Then we know that it is autumn,
Loveliest season of the year.
Charlotte L. Riser
One of the nicest beds I know
Isn’t a bed of soft white snow.
Isn’t a bed of cool green grass
After the noisy mowers pass.
Isn’t a bed of yellow hay
Making me itch for half a day
But autumn leaves in a pile that high,
Deep and smelling like fall and dry.
That’s the bed where I like to lie
And watch the flutters of Fall go by.
by Aileen Fisher