Autumn

Autumn is………

crisp mornings and cool evenings
orange and red sunsets
pumpkin pie
hot chocolate
spice-scented candles
jack o’lanterns with happy faces
foliage of red, yellow, green and brown
a return to a slower routine
juicy, red apples for applesauce and pie
popcorn
a bountiful harvest

Below are poems that JK has copied into her poetry notebook. November Night and A Pop Corn Song are her favorites.

November Night
Listen….
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.
(Adelaide Crapsey)

Autumn
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.
(Emily Dickinson)

September
The goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian’s bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make aster in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer’s best of weather,
And autumn’s best of cheer.
(Helen Hunt Jackson)

A Pop Corn Song
Sing a song of pop corn
When the snowstorms rage;
Fifty little brown men
Put into a cage.
Shake them till they laugh and leap
Crowding to the top;
Watch them burst their little coats
Pop!! Pop!! Pop!!

Sing a song of pop corn
In the firelight;
Fifty little fairies
Robed in fleecy white.
Through the shining wires see
How they skip and prance
To the music of the flames;
Dance!! Dance!! Dance!!

Sing of song of pop corn
Done the frolicking;
Fifty little fairies
Strung upon a string.
Cool and happy, hand in hand
Sugar-spangled, fair;
Isn’t that a necklace fit
For any child to wear?
(Nancy Byrd Turner)

Autumn Fancies
The maple is a dainty maid,
The pet of all the wood,
Who lights the disky forest glade
With scarlet cloak and hood.

The elm a lovely lady is,
In shimmering robes of gold,
That catch the sunlight when she moves,
And glisten, fold on fold.

The sumac is a gypsy queen,
Who flaunts in crimson dressed,
And wild along the roadside runs,
Red blossoms in her breast.

And towering high above the wood,
All in his purple cloak,
A monarch in his splendor is
The proud and mighty oak.
(Unknown)

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