O those pesky leaves do fall
And pile themselves deep once more.
The north wind rakes them every year
Then throws them at my front door.

Now orchard trees shed their fruit
To be hand- picked one by one.
The scent of fresh squeezed cider
Lingers beneath an Autumn sun.

The great pumpkin has arrived
With a scary lit up face.
Inviting those in search of treats
To a dark and spooky place.

Yes, apples, leaves and pumpkins,
It is now that time of year.
Jack Frost has left a message,
Winter’s grip is almost here.