Autumn Chant by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Now the autumn shudders In the rose's root. Far and wide the ladders Lean among the fruit. Now the autumn clambers Up the trellised frame, And the rose remembers The dust from which it came. Brighter than the blossom On the rose's bough Sits the wizened orange, Biter berry now; Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came

Autumn by Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,

The nuts are getting brown; 

The berry's cheek is plumper, 

The rose is out of town. 

The maple wears a gayer scarf, 

The field a scarlet gown. 

Lest I should be old-fashioned, 

I'll put a trinket on.

Autumn by Carol A. Davis

Autumn is the time for remembering summer's gentle breezes . . .

the time for crisp bright-colored leaves to fall to the earth below.

All summer long they have hung overhead in lacy formation,

their life-span one short spring and summer,

making room for the new buds to rest during the winter . . .

to bring forth new life in the spring . . .

Fall is a bright and glorious end to their short stay.

Autumn is the time for strolling through flaming country lanes . . .

the time for discovering the beauty that lies within our grasp,

the crisp fall breezes, the bright blue skies, the fiery-colored trees,

their leaves shimmering in the sun like so many golden coins,

the rustles of leaves underfoot,

the hint of the frost to come hanging in the air.

Autumn is the time for the readying of winter's icy breath,

the time for woolly sweaters and softly glowing fireplaces . . .

a time for crunchy apples and freshly popped corn,

a time for good smells from the kitchen,

a time for the gathering of friends before the fireplace,

a time for a drive though the woods, not too long ago, green and bursting with life . . .

now a wonderland of colors to delight the eye and gladden the heart.

Autumn is the time for the city to gather its wandering children

after their summer of excursions here and there . . .

to call them from a broad, to promise them the best she has to offer . . .

the brilliant opening of song, music and dance,

the store windows all dressed for cooler weather,

a breeze rolling in off the river

not quite cool enough to let you forget the summer.

Autumn's Here by Eugene Grijalva

The summer sun
Has lots it's heat.

The autumn wind
Has cooled the earth.

Green trees shiver,
Their leaves turn brown.

The sky darkens
And cries at times.

Dry riverbeds
Come back to life.

White clouds of fog
Blanket the ground.

Sweaters and coats
Are worn again.

Outside, you miss
The warmth of home.

People hurry along,
Their breath is mist.

Days are shorter;
Nights are long.

Fires burn high
And embers glow.

Life still goes on;
Summer is missed.

Roads to Autumn by Barton Rees Pogue

All roads lead to autumn.

Down crimson aisles

The car is running on to enchanting afterwhiles.

All roads lead to autumn.

The leaves with laughter 

Swirl around the car and gaily follow after. 

All roads lead to autumn. 

Wild asters and goldenrod 

Join decorating talents with the bursting milkweed pod. 

All roads lead to autumn. 

The red haws cling 

Like periods that end the ardent sentences of spring. 

All roads lead to autumn. 

An enticing sun and forest halls 

Beckon on and on till the lane quail calls.

Go, My Summer by Julia Collins Ardayne

Go, my summer, where the fields 

Still hold the sound of laden bee; 

And red-top yields its treasure 

To the comb so soon replete. 

Go, summer, while there is yet time, 

Remembering meadows where the sweet 

Wild berries grew and daisies, 

White as stars, spread to the sun; 

While yet the tree but little stained with frost 

Tells of the shade its branches made at noon. 

Go now, my summer, soon! ere long the owl 

Will shiver and the leaf will fade. 

My bare feet knew a wood's stream, cool, 

Where sanded bar and shelving pool 

Dreamed in the sun and silver-fleshed trout 

Flecked the way of speckled water, rushing free. 

Haste, summer, flee! 

But find again 

The shadow of the oak, the pine, 

Before the red leaf drift from tree, from vine, 

And song be hushed. 

O haste, my summer, lest you wait 

Too long . . . too late.

Autumn by Lucille Crumley

Autumn is the time that brings 

Birds going south on flyaway wings. 

Crickets that chirp in the flower bed, 

Sumac candles blazing red. 

Clusters of bittersweet on the vine, 

Apples, polished, and sweeter than wine. 

Chrysanthemums peeking through patterns of frost . . . 

Autumn is happiness without cost. 

The crunching of gold leaves under your feet, 

Crimson maples edging the street. 

The calling of geese from a twilight sky, 

Their wings in rhythm passing by. 

The chattering of squirrels to work in the trees, 

A tangy, smoke smell on evening breeze.

a football game when your team has won, 

Early frost shining in late morning sun. 

A harvest moon in a Halloween sky, 

One single bright star hanging high. 

Ghost stories at midnight, Thanksgiving Day, 

All this is autumn coming your way.

Robin Redbreast by William Allingham

Goodbye, goodbye to summer!

For summer's nearly done;

The garden smiling faintly,

Cool breezes in the sun;

Our thrushes now are silent,

Our swallows flown away--

But Robin's here, in coat of brown,

With ruddy breast-knot gay.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

Robin singing sweetly In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange

The leaves come down in hosts;

The trees are Indian princes,

But soon they'll turn to ghosts;

The leathery pears and apples

Hang russet on the bough,

It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, '

Twill soon be winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?

For pinching days are near. T

The fireside for the cricket,

The wheat stack for the mouse,

When trembling night winds whistle

And moan all round the house;

The frosty ways like iron,

The branches plumed with snow--

Alas! in winter, dead and dark,

Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin,

His little heart to cheer.

The End of Summer by Antonia Bissell Laird

Summer fades, 

and with it goes 

sweet white corn,

tomatoes plump with juice, 

beans plucked from the vine, 

strawberry mouse,

raspberries divine. 

Summer's filled with watermelon seeds,

blueberries picked beneath a sharp clear sky,

fresh garden peas and rhubarb pie. 

Summer's fled,

pumpkins are sold from roadside stands.

Fruit is on the trees, 

There is a wisp of frost.

It's time for basted grouse and applesauce.

Bannana Mallow Pie

1¾ cups cold milk

1 pkg (4 serving size) Jello-O Vanilla Flavor Instant Pudding & Pie Filling

2 cups miniature marshmallows

1 cup thawed whip topping

2 medium bananas sliced

1 graham pie crust

Pour milk into large bowl. Add pudding mix; beat with wire whisk 2 minutes. Let stand 5 minutes. Add marshmallows and whipped topping; stir gently until well blended. Place banana slices in crust; cover with pudding mixture. Refrigerate 1 hour. Cut into 8 slices to serve. Store leftover pie in refrigerator.

Serves 8