Dimpled globes of deepes orange, nest in leaves of green and brown.
Stretched as far as you can see; the setting sun a golden crown.
Gather in the harvest now, winter's soon to come along.
Pumpkins started months ago from seeds planted one by one.
Fed and watered carefully, and coddled by the summer sun.
Now they're ready to be chosen for a lantern or a pie.
What is sown is what is ours, when bare branches fill the sky.
Apples, pumpkins, falling leaves.
Cold winds blow, wear long sleeves.
Trick or treat, the witches fly.
Thanks for joys and pumpkin pie.
Trees on fire, then gone bare.
Hint of rainstorms in the air.
Count your blessings, stars of white.
Pale blue day, gold moon tonight.