Here's a poem I wrote a few years ago. I thought it sounded fitting for the season.

Fall

The trees turn colors when fall comes along,

Out come the canned goods, baked goods and guns....

To go hunting with, and bring back fresh game,

So the women at home can salt, chop and hang.

The air smells sweet with wet leaves and grass,

who wouldn't want fall to go on and last?

But here comes winter-

It comes with a blow,

It ices our steps and covers with snow.