Autumn

by Inkfeather

The nip in the air has turned to a bite.

The dew in the garden's now frost overnight.

The sunrise is later,

the sunset too soon,

For chipmunks to harvest

or south flying loon.

There trees are near naked

of bright colored garb

their wardrobe enlivens

the ground in the yard.

The pumpkins are standing alone on the ground

Not a leaf or stem of green to be found.

Where has the time gone?

I do not remember

The days passed so quickly from June to September.

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