IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR
Wild geese are flying overhead;
The air is crisp and clear,
The last bright leaves are tumbling down,
For it's that time of year.
The pungent smell of woodsmoke drifts
From bonfires everywhere,
And squirrels darting to and fro
Hide nuts in ample share.
Wagons filled with happy children
Are seen on country lanes;
Older folk, in sweet nostalgia,
Live childhood days again.
The flower beds now look forlorn;
Jack Frost has passed our way.
With icy breath he seared the blooms
That once were bright and gay.
A cozy fire is on the hearth;
Dear friends have come to call.
Come let us share a cup of tea
And say good-bye to Fall.
Kay Hoffman
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