We frolic in the summer sun, but now it’s all undone
The long days, seemed they were unending.
Green trees no longer, surely the weather is sending,
The heat is retreating to southern reaches, where elders seek their fun.
The smoldering sun, which burns the most tender of skins
It’s hold on the valley once so strong is slowly fleeting.
Birds feel the call to fly away, and the message they are heeding.
The cold brings color to life, as the change of season begins.
A different fire spreads over the land, and it’s beauty draws crowds
The time of perfection of beauty is always far too short
Painters, and artists of every kind, hurry to show their report
Soon comes frost, and firebrands lose their perch under winter’s threatening clouds.
Pumpkins and cider, plowed fields and a country fair
Tourists taking advantage of weather so pleasant
Soon dinner will be turkey and yams, or maybe even a pheasant
And to Grandma’s we’ll go, bundled against the ever-cold air.
Yes summer goes, and seasons change, but never a dull moment.
Every season has it’s beauty, and fall in New England’s beyond compare.
Spend a day, an hour, a moment, just to stop and at the colors stare
No sorrow for the passing, life’s rhythm beating toward the future, hell-bent.
Three months, of the cycle is all it lasts, but more beauty throughout the year is coming
Lights colored and sparkling, a blanket of white,
The quiet is serene and complete after a snow late in the night.
Then a crocus leads the way, and the sun returns, and the bees return to their humming.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 8:44 PM UTC
We frolic in the summer sun, but now it’s all undone
The long days, seemed they were unending.
Green trees no longer, surely the weather is sending,
The heat is retreating to southern reaches, where elders seek their fun.
The smoldering sun, which burns the most tender of skins
It’s hold on the valley once so strong is slowly fleeting.
Birds feel the call to fly away, and the message they are heeding.
The cold brings color to life, as the change of season begins.
A different fire spreads over the land, and it’s beauty draws crowds
The time of perfection of beauty is always far too short
Painters, and artists of every kind, hurry to show their report
Soon comes frost, and firebrands lose their perch under winter’s threatening clouds.
Pumpkins and cider, plowed fields and a country fair
Tourists taking advantage of weather so pleasant
Soon dinner will be turkey and yams, or maybe even a pheasant
And to Grandma’s we’ll go, bundled against the ever-cold air.
Yes summer goes, and seasons change, but never a dull moment.
Every season has it’s beauty, and fall in New England’s beyond compare.
Spend a day, an hour, a moment, just to stop and at the colors stare
No sorrow for the passing, life’s rhythm beating toward the future, hell-bent.
Three months, of the cycle is all it lasts, but more beauty throughout the year is coming
Lights colored and sparkling, a blanket of white,
The quiet is serene and complete after a snow late in the night.
Then a crocus leads the way, and the sun returns, and the bees return to their humming.