Fine Pumpkin Fleet

Now that fall has arrived it should be no surprise
that it brings more than one tear of joy to my eyes.
And it’s not that I hate the intense summer heat,
but it is that I grin at the fine pumpkin fleet.

It is part of the fall which my heart fines accord,
an affinity for this orange overgrown gourd.
(And if I am amiss using gourd in this way,
you can serve me some pumpkin pie early next May.)

O but fall has arrived--hear the pumpkin patch sing!
Every autumn the growth on the vine is the thing.
As the leaves fall from trees with those colors so full,
you can bet that the pumpkins in their way have pull.

As with spring, tis a season that ushers a change;
with a temperature drop--apple pie on the range.
(For I must also speak of the apples, you see,
but voiced low to avoid pumpkin pie jealousy.)

O but heck, I don’t worry for pumpkins are grand;
in the fall they don’t fall but inherit the land.
When the farmers go out, even when it is late,
there are many a pumpkin that carry their weight.

There’s a fire in trees as the autumn wears on,
much ado in the morning with moisture at dawn.
When I look out my window ‘cross my humble street,
in their window I see one of the pumpkin fleet.

Yes I know he is cardboard, exceedingly thin,
but he gazes at autumn and takes it all in.
And so here’s to the fall and to pumpkin delight
and to carved Jack-O-Lanterns that glow in the night.

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