God be with you in the Autumn
When the earth is all aglow,
As the fallen leaves of Summer
Are wind-tossed to and fro.
The frost has touched the pumpkin
And the grass is crisp and chilled.
The harvest moon is breathtaking
As it rises o'er the hill.
Apple butter bubbles thick and rich
And persimmons are ripe to eat.
Cold cider made from apples
Is a pleasant Autumn treat.
painted hills make hearts pound.
The river runs calm and low.
Reflections of colorful trees are etched
On the water's edge below.
Smoke billows from the chimneys
And disappears high in the sky.
The wood chopper's ax lays idle
By the woodpile stacked nearby.
It's a time called Indian Summer
And my heart loves it the best.
It comes before the Winter
And it puts the Summer to rest.
--Shirley Hile Powell
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