October rides in on falls first breath

chasing the aged Harvest moon,

Summertimes past and our minds soon fill

... with thoughts of frost and pumpkins.

The gourds are entangled in webs and weeds

to be discovered, plucked and carted,

Mums pose gaily in arches blooming

giving all before Winters black kiss.

The mowers been caged, the blowers on deck

wild geese trumpet their flight cross the blue,

Politicians polish their promises and smiles

... while wee goblins chatter of treats.

The trees shake off their withering cloaks

as acorns plummet with carefree abandon.

A crisp carpet beckons young feet to shuffle

while valleys echo the chords of the fair.

Cornfields morph into haunted, twisting mazes

overseen by a raggedy-man in denim and plaid,

Steaming, hot ciders inhaled and savored

while the flu gets us stabbed in the arm.

S.A.D. eyes stare at the posted days

wondering where the months have fled,

The dusty aroma of a furnace engaged

blends with the crunch of a crisp Johnagold.

One season has fled, a new season is nigh

dont dwell on memories made,

For summertimes past and our minds are filled

... with thoughts of frost and pumpkins.

(Editors Note: S.A.D. stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder.)