Smoke curls gently above the homes
Of children with baskets full of pine cones.
The scent of cider fills the air
With a touch of cinnamon for added flair.

Wood piles grow taller with each passing day
While farmers gather the season’s last hay.
The trees don their coats of crimson and gold
And pumpkin pies bake in Grandma’s wood stove.

A walk through the woods on a crisp fall day
Shows tiny grey squirrels storing food away.
While chipmunks scurry in the path
Of fallen acorns in the grass.

‘Tis the season for harvesting summer’s best
A time to prepare for winter to come.
Pantries are filled with pickles and relish
And jars of fruits from peaches to plums.

Autumn bids farewell to the roses
In the final days of soft and warm,
It’s a time to unpack your woolen cosies
‘Fore we awake to the snow at morn.