Burnished gold sun shafts are gilding the sky,
Soaking in cobalt as deep as a sigh;
Heat mellows out into wood smoke and chill,
Pumpkins are carved with particular skill.
Green fades to auburn and ruby and rust,
Scraping down streets on a skittery gust;
Shadows sprawl out in the late afternoon,
Nightfall divulges a crystalline moon.
Turkeys are basted and roasted and sliced,
Hot apple cider is tangy and spiced.
Dishes are chinking and chatter flows free:
Autumn’s dropped in for a brief vis-à-vis.
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