Wednesday, October 10, 2012

poetry: on sestinas

Post your sestinas here when you're finished! Remember: you'll receive bonus points if you finish it by tomorrow, Thursday. Its final due date is Friday!


  1. "The Best Time of Year"
    By: Molly Edwards

    I wake up and the air is crisp
    All day, all that they watch is football.
    My bed is like being in a warm cozy sweater. Simile
    I do not want to get up, but I smell the pie
    My mother is baking, next to all the colors
    Of candles whose smell I love.

    This is the time of year I love.
    OH my how I love that apple crisp,
    All of the crazy cool colors Alliteration
    On the players playing football,
    The delicious taste of that pumpkin pie,
    And my stylish seasonal sweater.

    I put on my favorite sweater
    To go to my grandma's whom I love,
    But I have to bring her the pie
    That has not grown legs and left the crisp Personification
    clean counter. I can't watch football
    now, or play in the leave's different colors.

    I organized all of the colors Assonance
    Of all of my crazy sweaters
    And grabbed my favorite to play football.
    All of my cousins play. We all love
    The wonderful game out in the crisp
    Air. with bellies full of pie.

    The homemade wonderful tasting pie
    Made with so many fruity colors. Imagery
    The conversations were so crisp
    And clear around dinner. Grandpa's sweater
    got food on it though, but his love
    Of food made it ok while watching football.

    The killing of our team in football Hyperbole
    Made us all need some more pie
    That everyone said they had love
    For. Especially all of the pretty colors.
    My aunt said she liked my sweater
    Which I ironed to make nice and crisp.

    Fall is amazing football, air that is crisp, Diction
    All of the family love, the beautiful colors,
    The sweet taste of pie, and comfy sweaters.

    1. Molly is the only one who gets bonus points yayyyy! :D

  2. Rambling on Fall
    By: Caleb Punt

    I sit under a tree breathing in the crisp air
    Gazing at my surroundings the tree, the sky, a white rock
    My body is sprawled, relaxed over the grass
    In the distance I hear the babbling call of a duck
    Rejoicing in weather so mild
    When the usual tormentor is our friend, aren't you Oh Mighty Sun?

    The compassion of that sun
    Makes such a pleasure of the air
    And nature appears not mild
    But blazingly pretty like a precious rock
    Seeing this beauty does the duck
    And calmly continues toward the grass

    Another memory does bring the grass
    a memory where lights take the place of the sun
    A brutal backer beckons and I prepare to duck
    Away from the blow which threatens to take my air
    Out of my body and replace it with a cold rock
    Displacing of which will not be mild

    I take in the joy of the season mild
    Breathing in the smell of autumn grass
    Somehow remaining lively under even rock
    or the beating barrage of the sun
    It makes such a sweet aroma of the air
    Pleasing to all creatures, from man to duck

    Such a queer animal is the duck,
    At times cross others mild,
    Who pokes his head into the air
    And lets a call out over the water to the grass
    Calling from the river as if to the sun
    "I need a resting place, a branch, stone or rock."

    And a refuge it finds, a rock
    So steady to please the duck
    And with a plant to shelter from sun
    Creates a calm and mild
    Sanctuary away from precious grass
    In the River where water is wet and air cold.

    Fall, when over cool rock floats crisp air,
    When mighty sun becomes mild
    And the duck ventures from the familiar grass.

    1. Apostrophe
    2. Metaphor
    3. Alliteration
    4. Alliteration
    5. Personification
    6. Amplification
    7. Anthropomorphism

  3. Red, yellow, orange.
    They fall around me as they sing
    of the secrets of both life and death
    found coupled in this crisp season.
    O how I long to join this song of old
    as I lie under the vast tree.

    This ancient tree,
    like many before, have viewed sunsets orange
    and tell how all the angels of old
    compose a song of life and sing
    how life is like past seasons
    which are wise, beautifully aged, and old.

    As Autumn beholds winter's death
    at its footstep, the vitality of life is seen in the oak tree.
    Though it loses its leaves in season,
    its legacy of orange
    causes poets' and songwriters' souls to join in and sing
    that ancient choir's song.

    Young and old
    rally together in this season to enjoy life as well as death,
    knowing that both contribute to that eternal song we sing.
    Just as the leaves must fall from the tree,
    so too must a man's life turn orange
    and float gracefully down in its season.

    Is this season set in stone as Autumn's season?
    As man grows old,
    must he bow his head and float down as a leaf of orange?
    Although the inescapable is death,
    one must remember that with death,
    a new season unfolds in life, as it does in Spring with the tree.
    As the soul joins into Heaven and finally, finally sings.

    So may all souls sing
    when right is the season,
    and be rooted like the ancient tree
    When they are old
    so that death
    cannot uproot,but merely turn their lives into a brilliant orange.

    So go on and sing, the blazing sunset orange
    viewed by the tree tells how a day is spent and old
    and how life's season must end in a beautiful departure-
    a beautiful death.

    1. Asyndeton
    2. Biblical allusion
    3. Simile
    4. Metaphor
    5. Tone-change from downcast to hopeful
    6. Hyperbation
    7. Oxymoron

    (some of the longer lines wrapped around over to a new line, sorry)

  4. Freedom Fall

    Fall is like a single dimly lit candle inanity a dark room: inviting all the earth's inhabitants to gather in stillness. (allegory)
    The vast waves of the ocean don't even compare.
    The all-inclusive singing of introspective trees have made all other beauty obsolete.
    Creatures of all kinds prepare for a long winter's rest.
    As the wise old sun begins to set-
    The children of the world are released to freedom.

    Leaves fight the trees to escape to freedom.
    Leaves dance on the wind, drift to the ground, then once again stillness.
    There is where the pie was set.
    Love in any other season can't compare. (alliteration)
    An old man evaluates his life as he sit's on the park bench and rests.
    In the fall, hate is obsolete.

    Stress is obsolete,
    Inviting the rein of freedom.
    Beckoned snow does not yet. In the heavens it waits and rests.
    As the remaining leaves hit the ground, the trees announce their lively death through the stillness. (oxymoron)
    Light and dark mix together to which you can't compare.
    The band chooses from a list of songs to play for their next set.

    Fall can also bring a sadness, I saw a motherless child lay flowers in front of where a tombstone was set. (Negative capability)
    To some, the joy fall brings is obsolete.
    Some people choose to speak hatred fluently to which love can't compare.
    Their sadness has trapped them in chains to where they know no freedom.
    Only Stillness.
    Creatures make their final preparations for their great rest.

    Rest, sweet rest.
    Friends race: On your mark, set-- (Asyndeton)
    As the friends run off, they leave that part of the world behind, stillness.
    Summer is obsolete.
    Fall is freedom.
    Spring also can't compare.

    Fall is where families find blessings to compare.
    A laugh, a full belly, now time for rest.
    Family is freedom. (Consonance)
    The table now cleared was once set.
    The feeling of fulfillment now obsolete.
    The room is full of content stillness.

    Love can't compare, passion knows no stillness,
    Fall is freedom, and that is set. (Aphorism)
    above all the rest Fall rests. In the shadow of fall, every other season is obsolete.

  5. Fall by Josh Rayl
    Fall reminds me of the sweet taste of candy.
    Fall comes as slows as the growth of pumpkins.
    Fall brings the juicy, succulent turkey
    And the awesome cornucopia.
    The leaves turn yellow
    And some change to red.

    The interior of homes is decorated with orange and red.
    With fall comes the sweet corn-shaped candy.
    My eyes are confused by the shade of yellow.
    Fall comes as slow as the growth of pumpkins.
    I see gourds flowing out of the cornucopia.
    I smell the seasoned turkey.

    My bullet penetrated that turkey,
    And its blood ran red.
    I now look at the table’s center piece, the cornucopia.
    Fall brings the Halloween candy,
    And the carving of pumpkins.
    Inside them the flame glows yellow

    I look out the windows at the leaves that are yellow.
    BANNNGG! I see and kill another turkey.
    Now I begin to roast the seeds from the pumpkins.
    The metal of the roaster so hot, it is red
    I have already engorged myself with candy.
    I ask myself, What is the cornucopia?

    The horn of a goat is the cornucopia.
    The ground is blanketed with the color of yellow.
    I can’t eat any more candy.
    And I have already cooked the second turkey.
    I look at nature, which has become red
    Then I see the old rotten pumpkins.

    My mother has baked a pie flavored with pumpkins.
    I'm fearful ofhaving to eat it so I hide behind the cornucopia.
    My face is overcome with shades of red
    Then I rake up the blanket of yellow,
    and discard the remains of the turkey.
    I have consumed my body weight in candy.

    I cannot resist the sugary candy,
    Up comes the candy in a pasty yellow
    Out comes the once delicious turkey.

    1. Simile
    2. Repetition
    3. Alliteration
    4. Onomatopoeia
    5. Metaphor
    6. Hyperbole
    7. Allusion

    1. i had the literary devices underlined, but when i copy and pasted it from word it the underlines didnt transfer.

  6. "Light and Darkness"
    Connor Grill

    Like a million kisses of burning flair.
    With blinding rays of golden hair.
    Her beauty is high above me.
    Whose love is all-abiding and free.
    When her sister was born
    Lights power over man's hearts became worn.

    She was tired and worn
    The bright star was but a flair
    A new age of darkness was born.
    A new blinding unraveling of hair.
    Where men's hearts were not free
    Whose control was over me.

    "You are not greater than me."
    The dark sister said. She was not worn.
    Fun, secrets, juvenile, not free.
    With a lack of light there was no flair.
    Suppression-cut hair.
    There the darkness consumed the young born.

    Then came a new born.
    Unlike any man including me.
    Who screamed of strength and unleashed the light's hair.
    Who was once worn.
    Came back with brightest flair.
    Men were free.

    A new me!
    the darkness was worn.
    Unleashed golden hair.

    Well, when I woke from my bed with bad hair.
    I didn't feel free.
    Sure I felt worn.
    I feel refreshed like a new born.
    But mornings don't get along with me.
    I never said anything about me having flair.

    So the Sun ruled with its rays of hair/flaring.
    Then as the Sun became worn/ Darkness was born.
    Again ma is no longer free/ only to be saved by morning flair.

    1. Simile
    2. Foreshadowing
    3. Conflict
    4. Deus ex Machina
    5. Asyndeton
    6. Authorial Intrusion
    7. Metaphor

  7. "Writers Block"
    by Edward Amos

    Here I am writing this poem
    It is fall but I still feel the heat from the sun.
    The only relief from this is the cool breeze.
    Annoying and awfully agitating children
    Distract me from my writing.
    But I have to block out the noise.

    Pandemonium, commotion, noise
    Prevents me from writing this poem.
    The only way to finish is to start writing,
    Hot, flaming, Sun
    Why do we have to sit near the children?
    At least I still feel the breeze.

    Across the pond comes the breeze
    Only to amplify the noise.
    While on the playground are the children
    And I still don't know what to write about in my poem.
    Down comes the Sun.
    Only to prohibit my writing.

    A giant wall prevents me from writing,
    Thank goodness for the breeze.
    It neutralizes the heat from the sun
    But on comes the noise.
    I need ideas for my poem
    I want silence from the children.

    The small, playful, children
    Are inspiration for my writing.
    I will talk about them in my poem
    As well as the gentle and refreshing breeze,
    While there is still noise
    As well as the hot Sun.

    With the heat and noise and Sun,
    It is hard to forgive the children
    For making so much noise
    And delaying me from writing,
    But there is relief with the breeze
    And it helps me to focus when I write this poem.

    The terrible sun stalls my poem,
    And the obnoxious noise doesn't help my writing
    But I forgive the children just like I welcome the breeze.

    1. Alliteration
    2. Asyndeton
    3. Circunlocution
    4. Hyperbole
    5. Imagery
    6. Polysyndeton
    7. Simile

  8. Outside, my hair is pushed by the wind.
    I look up to the sky of blue
    and I look down and see leaves.
    Glowing from the sun
    is the water,
    shining all the time.

    I sit here, losing track of time
    as I feel the wind
    flowing past me like water
    that is a cool blue.
    I'm heated by the sun
    and flying around me are leaves.

    There are many leaves.
    Counting would be a waste of time.
    As now, down goes the sun.
    The speed of the wind
    increases as the blue
    sky evaporates like water.

    It is now hard to see the water
    as it is now covered with leaves
    and is no longer so blue.
    I await the time
    that I see the trees swaying with the wind
    and shining is the sun.

    Soon, the clouds will again reveal the sun
    and it will shine on the water,
    which shall be moved by the wind
    like the leaves
    flowing through the air time after time
    again, as the sky shines blue.

    But once again, the sky of blue
    will fade as the sun
    lowers for night time.
    The dark water
    again is covered with leaves
    and pushed by the wind.

    Soon, the waves will be blue and pushed by wind.
    If only time would hurry so I may see the water
    and the sun will shine, and I'm surrounded by leaves.

    1. I hated this poem. Not the assignment, just my poem. I should have written it by today because I had it done... >.<

  9. The Sensation of the Beginning and Duration of Fall

    I love to look at the pictures that are reflectant, displayed in the pond,
    And relish slowly the August air.
    I cannot forget the joyful, children’s voices
    And the aging, old leaves,
    With glimers of hesitant rays of sharpness that atone for light;
    All the sensations of hominess and comfort that come about with Fall.

    A deep candy bowl of various types could define Fall.
    The many aspects of this time of year, fitting perfectly into the pond,
    With a filter of a unique light
    That not only brightens but encompasses the brisk air.
    Each different piece of candy, a new feeling, is like one of the Fall leaves.
    Only a quick and playful hand into the bowl are those majestic voices.

    So what distinguishes this common day; is it the voices,
    That unashamadely display the true emotions of Fall,’
    The day they associate with the falling yet mysterious leaves
    With the motion , slow and fluid, as the pond.
    Or perhaps it is the air
    Or even the infiltrating light.

    One wandering stranger can see the Autumn light,
    However the light can not see the stranger who listen’s to the season’s voices;
    Such are the birds of crow, finch, and wren that fill the air,
    Frolicking in the picturesque scene of Fall.
    They fly and swim over the pond
    And pick at and settle in the crunchy leaves.

    I am very happy when I get a glimpse of the first Fall leaves,
    That fall and mix into the shining light.
    The leaves and trees totally encompass the pond,
    Not responding to the children’s voices.
    This season that brings about a good feeling into one’s soul is Fall,
    The season with the clean ,crisp, and fresh air.

    The birds and leaves and voices and light all fill the air.
    Making such a culture that rests not solely on the fall of the leaves.
    Is this all that I can do to describe fall?
    Is fall more than just the season with changing lights
    Or that of children’s voices,
    Or that of a still and quiet pond?

    I want some of that air, that gives me joy while observing the pond,

    And I do say of Fall: It can be about the light,

    But more importantly of the symbol of death and life in the leaves and the constant hope given by the children’s voices.

    1. Anastrophe
    3. Inversion
    4. Chiasmus
    5. Periphrasis
    6. Polysyndeton
    7. Pathetic Fallacy

  10. "Fall"

    Breeze came and stayed in an ellagant way,
    The love of past, it's path bent out of place
    Music comes and flys through the air
    While colors of diffebt kinds embrace
    God has givin us a great season
    He gives us love that can be put in a case

    Blessings are like gifts
    They come like a breeze and don't go away
    For God h givin them to us to keep
    And His love is a blessing as well
    From the colors of the leaves
    And the music like a bird singing

    Music- your tone of voice helps me be entertained
    You are a blessing from above;
    Colors- you change your looks, to whatever pleases you;
    The breeze helps you dance to your liking
    Love- you may have hard times, but together we help each other...
    God ha givin you to me.

    God is an awesome God indeed
    The music is sweet and relaxin that He has givin us
    His love is abundant and never ending
    Blessings shower upon our heads from God
    The breeze that He has created is always new and is cool
    And the colors of changing leaves fill our eyes with great delight.

    Colors are changing like the clothes of a human
    God is great in all that He does;
    Breezes are like the wind of fans blowing on us;
    Music fill our souls with happiness.
    Blessings are like stars
    Gods love is never ending

    Love is never hate
    Dull colors are never here.
    Bad blessings aren't given
    God loves us
    Non musical music is not here
    The breeze I amazing

    Love is like a breeze
    Blessings from God are on us
    And colors tell us that the music is helping us.

    1. 1. Rhythm & Rhyme
      2. Analogy
      3. Caesura
      4. Imagery
      5. Metaphor
      6. Oxymoron
      7. Pathetic Fallacy

  11. Trees,
    In the fall the leaves.they turn brown
    as the air turns cool
    hibernation begins for bears
    this is nature

    In nature there are trees
    there are also bears
    trees have leaves
    bears are cool
    they are both brown

    The prevalence of brown
    in nature
    can be seen as the cool
    breeze whispers through the trees
    in the wind blows the leaves
    into hibernation go the bears

    Bears are brown
    bears roll in leaves
    bears live in nature
    bears climb trees
    bears are cool

    Nature in the fall is cool
    they don't like the cool, the bears
    so they begin to get fat by climbing trees
    to eat squirrels. Their luscious brown
    fur reflects the color of nature
    in the fall as brown the leaves are

    On trees there are leaves
    fall brings the cool-
    ness of winter to nature
    hibernation begins for the bears
    and the leaves turn brown
    as they fall off trees

    Fall is the beggining of leaves falling off trees
    changes begin in nature as to sleep go bears
    everything cools down and becomes brown

  12. one fine day in fall
    a man was walking and his name was Beowulf.
    He just dismounted his noble steed
    as he entered the kingdom walls he heard of fight.
    the air was so very cold
    so to stay warm he began to skip.

    He loved to fight so he started to skip
    but he tripped and started to fall.
    The wind that blew past his face was cold
    he fell on his face, but was he embarrassed? no hes Beowulf
    He went in search of this fight
    So to avoid falling again he got onto his steed.

    He traveled through the streets on his steed
    strangely, his horse began to... skip.
    He found the source of the news about this fight
    as he dismounted he took another fall
    his ego was indeed bruised but he is Beowulf.
    Now he was covered in mud and he was very cold

    Yes the mud was very cold
    he was made fun of by all even the steed.
    he was getting sad but then he remembered, he was Beowulf
    to shake the mud off he began to skip
    this time he did not fall
    but instead finally went to this fight

    yes it was quite the fight
    nobody would dare attempt it because of the cold
    on had attempted he to took a fall
    he rode quickly on his steed
    who this time did not skip
    but they flew as he shouted hi name Beowulf

    this hero however was not really Beowulf.
    he was also not prepared to fight
    the real Beowulf would never skip
    and didn't care about the cold
    the real Beowulf steed was a much nobler steed
    and he would never fall

    but this was Beowolf, Beowulf's little brother born in the fall
    he loved to skip and he lost his balance and took a hard fall
    he had never been in a fight and his steed was a mini steed.

  13. Nature is tickling my skin.
    The trees reach out their gnarled fingers to cover me from the sun
    The grass puts on a graceful display of dancing
    As i sit here and long for the faint chill of fall.
    The colors all around me beg for my undivided attention.
    But here I sit, carefully etching these words.

    Harsh, biting, brutal have been my words
    In past weeks as the sun reached down to scorch my skin.
    The sun ventured out to rob me of all my attention;
    My thoughts were consumed by the burning and scortching of the sun
    Each day, I awaited the fall
    of the harsh and mocking sun so that I might gae upon the stars dancing.

    Those were the nights--the nights I caught my soul dancing.
    My soul needed not to hear warm words
    Whispered--melting my heart; for the evening cause the temperature to fall.
    The chill air rose tiny tickling welts to my skin.
    I longed for the day that the scorching sun
    Would fall; Then nature would posses my undivided attention.

    When I run in the burning hear, my attention
    Falls away. My arguably psychotic thoughts begin dancing,
    Until a tiny little angel descends to protect me from the sun.
    With this angel's magical words,
    A cooling sensation runs through my skin.
    Within my mind, the evil thoughts begin to fall.

    As they fall,
    My abilities rise to the occasion--I steal everyone's attention.
    In this weather, a glittering coat of gold glazes my skin.
    The sparkles of water and salt begin dancing--
    Everyone is at a lost of words.
    I owe it all to the taming of the sun.

    All this fun, I owe to the sun.
    There is a beautiful call to the joys of fall
    When the birds begin to find their melodious words.
    There is only a slight tension when not all attention
    Is focused on the prancing lights of the stars dancing.
    I breathe in the thin, pleasant air and enjoy the chill stroking my skin.

    The tamed rays of the sun informed my skin,
    With words that demanded my undivided attention,
    That the long awaited fall had arrived, and had the leaves dancing.

  14. The hero rode along with his horse and his sword,
    praying to his Father to not be overcome to the winter.
    Knowing that on this journey his Father was his only company,
    but knew He wouldn't let him fall to this monster,
    and the monster would know who killed him: Beowulf
    and that the Father is his shield.

    Our champion saw a strong enemy coming and raised his shield.
    He blocked the beasts' strike then slashed him with his sword
    The angry monster noticed it was Beowulf,
    so he hid in the blanket of winter.
    The hero follwed the fresh blood trail of the monster
    his sword and his shield now his company.

    But would this be enough company?
    The hero saw something coming and again he raised his shield,
    but this time it was no monster,
    so he proceeded to sheath his sword.
    This was an unusual sight in the winter,
    he thought as a strong, muscular dog approached Beowulf.

    The new found accompanied Beowulf,
    he smiled at the dogs coy smirk and knew he was in good company, it was good to have a friend in the relentless wintter.
    Night approached and the hero needed a shelter, a shield
    from the cold. He found an inviting cave and pulled out his sword
    he needed to check for signs of the monster.

    There was no indication that the cave housed a monster
    so the champion started a fire, layed down, the dog beside Beowulf
    close to the protection of his new masters sword.
    these two were indeed a capable company,
    one acted as the others shield.
    A fire and a friend are a precious camoddody in a white winter.

    The next morning the hero was not awoke to the sounds of winter,
    but to the sounds of battle with a monster!
    He sprinted out and dove to block a fatal blow with his shield,
    but what he heard next enraged Beowulf.
    As he battled he heard a whimper, it was that of his company,
    the champion let out a battle cry and discarded his sword.

    He was no longer bothered by the winter, he needed no sword,
    he needed no shield, he was Beowulf.
    He struck the monster and tore off every limb, seeking vengeance for his company.

  15. When songbirds stop singing and simply fly
    When perfect purple petunias are purchased for a pound
    When failed feathers catch wind and fall
    looping, they land
    like the lonely, lackadaisickle leave
    or leaf, excuse my grammar, but its got to be that time

    Its fall time
    Just ask the fruit fly
    He`ll answer promptly, then leave
    Cares, he doesnt have a pound.
    He`ll land.
    Because its fall.

    Its fall.
    Its just that time.
    God`s gift to the land
    The hum of the dragon fly
    Ba-bam Da-dound Pa-pound
    The deer hooves beat the ground as they leave.

    The colors leave
    The leaves fall
    I gain one more pound
    It`s holliday time
    I want to grow wings and fly
    across this vast land

    I want to descend and land
    Before the snowflakes leave
    I want to fly.
    Dont fall!
    Its just that time.
    Gain another pound.

    Gain another pound
    Admire God`s land
    Its just that time.
    As I leave
    my grandmother`s house i admire the acorns that fall
    And wish that i could fly.

    Dont gain another pound, but grow light, and fly.
    Because its about that time that the black bears leave
    And cast blessing on the land. Its fall.

  16. Oh! That glorious red,
    that bright gold,
    the falling leaves,
    giggling children,
    with round orange pumpkins,
    and the beautiful sound of laughter.

    It's a balm on the sorrowful heart to hear the bright, tinkling laughter,
    to see that brilliant shade of red, to see and hear children giggling over pumpkins,
    To walk in the falling gold,
    to see teh children,
    Jump, jump, jumping into the pile of leaves.

    Toss, toss, tossing up the gold, red, and orange leaves,
    to feel the laughter,
    To a watch the excited children,
    To spot the sweater that's red,
    to spot the cloud of gold
    to spot the perfect orange shade of pumpkin.

    Buying the huge orange pumpkin,
    traipsing through the leaves,
    reaching the car thats gold,
    hearing the rise of laughter,
    watching the sky turn red,
    watch the running children.

    Orange, orange, and more orange pumpkins,
    more, and more leaves,
    more and more falling leaves of gold,
    deep-belly laughter,
    oh that beautiful vibrant red,
    the delighted squeals of children,

    Oh to see those fabulous leaves of falling gold, mixed in with that vibrant red,
    the growing laughter, the growing pumplins,
    the happy children, and the piles and piles of leaves.

  17. *Sorry I haven't turned this in sooner! My computer is down and today this period is the only time I have been able to post it at school.*

    "My Favorite Season"

    My favorite season is fall
    With its color-changing leaves
    And its weather which is cool.
    And the smell of cinnamon in the air.
    Colors of red, orange and yellow
    Fill the town's trees and grass.

    Halloween decorations in the grass.
    One of the first signs of fall.
    Pumpkins of orange and squash of yellow
    Surrounded my multicolored leaves.
    I can feel the thinning air.
    Not too warm, perfectly cool.

    Football season is really cool
    I love the small of the field's grass.
    The excitement of winning in the air.
    People love the boys of fall.
    Like hurricane Katrina when she leaves;
    The weather radar flashes yellow.

    The colors of orange, red and yellow.
    The temperature that is perfectly cool.
    I like to rake up the fall leaves
    In a pile in my yard in the grass.
    Then, into the pile I fall.
    A skydiver in mid-air.

    Different kinds of birds in the air.
    My favorites are the ones of yellow.
    There kinds of birds come in the fall.
    Flying south for the winter, it's cool.
    Eating the worms out of the grass,
    Nestling up under the trees.

    I watch the colorful, beautiful leaves
    as they swoop and spiral through the air.
    As I sit in the grass,
    I watch around me: red, orange, yellow.
    The temperature is cool.
    This is why I love fall.

    Down, down the leaves fall.
    The grass of green, the leaves of yellow.
    The air is warm, yet perfectly cool.