Sweaters in the morning, less in afternoon,
Frosty start , blazing middle, chilly old end
The leaves once so fertile, now begin to fall,
Dead souls roam the map, visiting nostalgia,
Cornucopia spills, lives mix, a pie batter, amongst the waxy apples
Animals scrounge for food and a burrow,
For they know that winter comes,
We, those that heat from the luminescent glow of plastic,
We do not feel as they feel,
The Earth breathes, and some sense,
The leaves drift from their once so high homes, and some watch
Take delight in the color, the depth,
Smooth the succulent squash, and taste its yellow
