AUTUMN FAREWELL
by John T. Baker
The brilliant hues surrender one by one,
the first chill hint of early winter comes,
the weary leaves depart, their work all done,
the fields are stark without chrysanthemums.

A warning touch of frost veneers the lawn,
a half-forgotten prospect bleak unfolds;
all signs foretell soon autumn will be gone
without a trace, not even marigolds.

Now nothing grows but seeds of discontent,
the garden plots revert to barren clods;
despondent floral zealots long lament
the hollyhocks, bewail the goldenrods.

But recollection tempers all regrets,
for Spring will come, and so will violets.