This poem was in our church bulletin today. I don't know who the Author is but it is just so full of color and has a truth of the Autumn.
The harvest moon has long since passed;
Our crops are taken in at last--
North wind's blowing bleak and chill;
Frost coats the valleys, fog the hills.
As colored leaves drift slowly down,
The earth takes on a patchwork gown--
Now all can snuggle safe and sound;
No need to venture far around.
The farm assumes a quiet peace,
As frantic paces can decrease,
And one can sit and muse and dream--
Fall is the country's richest cream.
And now that the time has changed, the pace will slow down and evenings will be for sharing and playing games with family, friends but mostly the Rancher who lets me win an occassional game.