It's a golden autumn day here. And I'd like to offer this piece of mine from September 1995:
The air is alive with hurrying bees,
For the flowers are fading as fast as the trees.
The heedful now see that the summer is past,
The hours of leisure are over at last.
Squirrels are making the most of the weather,
Gathering all of their acorns together;
But dragonflies carelessly give up their chance,
With no other thought but to finish the dance.
Scurrying spiders are feeling the cold,
And leaves that were tender are now looking old:
Drying to crimson and falling away,
Whirled by the breeze at the end of the day.
Time to chop wood, and time to light fires;
Starlings sit huddled on telephone wires.
Mornings are chilly, and evenings are damp:
So stoke up the fire, and light up the lamp!
Smoke drifts from chimneys, and hangs in the air;
And moths flutter uselessly in despair.
The birds are departing, I hear their goodbyes,
But the sunset is golden, as warm as your eyes.
Not exactly noble verse, but nicely upbeat. A mellow season touched by the chill to come.