Marianna Jo Arolin
I welcome these crisp autumn days,
This abundant harvest time.
When boughs are bent with apples,
And pumpkins cling to vines.
The taste of hot mulled cider,
Pungent wood smoke in the sky.
That flows like long gray ribbons,
From chimneys reaching high.
The last bright leaves have fallen.
Now, hills are crimson-gold.
I watch breathtaking splendor
As harvest time unfolds.
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