The clock moves back one hour,
more time to contemplate;
Or rest with heads on pillows,
'fore we rush to meet our fate.

It used to be October's job,
to add that extra time;
But now the night's extended,
through late autumn's dusky clime.

Still the pumpkins color,
the gardens all around;
And winds will gladly whisper,
their crisp yet mournful sound.

But skies are streaked with scarlet,
in velvet cloaks of change;
More time for us to ponder,
our moments rearranged.

The topaz leaves have fluttered,
to cover yards below;
While children wait for holidays,
and the ever-constant snow.