A Season Without...

[Dude A Bydes]

The autumn leaves still drift across the fields adorned with dew.

The colors, though still vibrant, seem less golden in their hue.

The sounds and smells of shortened days still summon certain snow,

And bands of birds, like winged words, still warble winter's woe.

The farmers know: "We reap--We sow," yet even they seem strange

To this October's oddness... to this November's change.

We've all seen Peyton's miracles in banner years and lean,

But none of us seem settled on a year without "18."

[Edward Dean]

Excellent fun romp through autumn Dude.