Rise and come, the trees are bare

and all the leaves are on the ground.

There’s something brunkish in the air

and brown and orange all around.

–

We’ll feast on crispy oven-meat

and mounds of creaming vegetables,

bread made crinkly-warm from heat,

and butter salt delectables.

–

We’ll drink from icy mountain streams

in pewter tankards cool, and grand,

or fill our cups with autumn dreams:

the finest mead in all the land.

–

The ghosts of pumpkin yesteryears

come riding on the whispy breeze

or hang like spooky light-o-spheres

glowing brightly in the trees.

–

So let us dine till stars are born

and shine their twinkle in the sky.

We’ll dance and talk until the morn

and go to sleep with happy sigh.

–

–

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Photo by Matt Hoffman on Unsplash