That winter will not come to Texas.
A touch of color tinges all the oaks;
Elm leaves are falling, falling, falling.
Squirrels pursue a potent urge
To plant pecans all over.
Goldenrod glows brilliantly
Atop its towering stalks.
Birds collect in flocks,
Grown social in the autumn weather.
Everything is getting colder
Day by day, night by night;
And we seek ways to celebrate,
To compensate for growing darkness,
Not yet convinced within our hearts
That light will soon return.
©2017 John I. Blair, 10/31/2017