Autumnal Equinox Poem by Frank Avon

Fall of the year
has fallen

The air is chill,
the sky is dark,
leaves are turning,
Flowers wilt.

One wears socks
instead of sandals,
sweaters
instead of tees,
long breeches
instead of shorts.

The furnace
clicks on;
blankets
are welcome.

Summer
was too brief;
spring
too long ago.

Sing the old songs,
play the old games;
one must not be sluggish,
but brisk.

Hot cider,
bonfires,
of Jack Daniels
just a whisk.

Bring in the Boston ferns,
pull up the petunias,
mulch the rose bed,
watch the coleus fade.

Pray for
colors splendid.
Pretend winter
will be delayed.

Fry some green tomatoes,
pick a golden pumpkin,
put up a shock of corn stalks,
stack up some bales of hay,

mow the grass
one last tinme,
sharpen the teeth
of your rake.

Fall has fallen.
Frost is eminent.
Curtain your windows,
clean out the chimney.

Like you, this year
grows hoarier with age;
it won't ever be young
again.