THE LAST OF OCTOBER
by Aileen Fisher
The last of October we lock the garden gate.
The flowers have all withered that used to stand straight.
The last of October we put the swings away.
The porch looks deserted where we used to play.
The last of October the birds have all flown,
The screens are in the attic, the sand piles alone.
Everything is put away before it starts to snow-