Aunt Sarah's Old New England Home
Light green and gray round spots stain the oaks' bark;
Showing plain the dappled cold October color-mark.
Breezes blow, and chat with leaves, painted by sunlight,
so many greens, warm browns, and rich dark reds.
Well worn Worcester walls, built by our first settlers,
Now drift down to gray road beds.
Folks know great oaks soar high;
from under granite stones and deep moist earth.
Dark blue skies, and yellow brown branches
drop acorns briskly with winds of mirth.
Sounds are of pregnant nuts, popping on the roof,
Smashing our heads and hands.