Geese have lost their Summer feathers,
Trees are bent with apples red,
Farmers' fields are turned and tired.
It's cold, with gray clouds overhead.
Soon the snow will lay a blanket,
On grass and road, on farmer's field.
Within a white and silent shroud,
The world will be quite shortly sealed.
Yet, in the home, as in a man,
A fire will burn, a song will sound.
Life will let the Winter pass,
Until, at last, the Spring comes round.
The geese shall change their clothes once more,
As hills put on their yellow flowers.
Farmers' fields will all turn green,
As white clouds rain down April showers.
Donovan Baldwin