It's That Time of Year

 
Wild geese are flying 
overhead;
The air is crisp and clear.

 
The last bright leaves are tumbling down
For it's that time of the year.

The pungent smell of
wood smoke drifts
From bonfires everywhere,
 

And squirrels darting
to and fro
Hide nut in ample share.

 
 
 

Wagons filled with
happy children
Are seen on country lanes;
 
 

Older folks, in
sweet nostalgia,
Live childhood days again.
 
The flower beds
now look forlorn;

Jack Frost has passed
our way.


With icy breath he 
seared the blooms That once were bright and happy.

 
A cozy fire is on the 
hearth;  Dear Friends have
come to call.
Come let us share 
a cup of  coffee 
And say good-bye
to fall
 

Author of poem
Kay Hoffman

Page By Susie1114
This site is maintained and
copyrighted by SusieA1114@aol.com

 

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on the website, have been designed by and
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