Tuck’s 84 in dog years, still he’s such a little boy.”
His stocking’s hung on high again. He’s asking for a toy.
“A raw hide too would sure be sweet,” he told his sister Tink.
“So get that list to Santa quick! You’ll miss him if you blink.”
The stockings are hung.
Her Christmas plate’s handy.
She hopes there’s no coal.
Perhaps some puppy candy?
As autumn wanes the leaves will fall.
In spite of rain we doubt that’s all.
I lift my eyes and search beyond.
Great gifts remain so near my pond.
I know that it’s fall.
It’s there on the wall.
And still I’ve heard much talk of snow.
I’ll look for my cap.
Though I’d prefer a long nap.
Old man winter has plenty of gall!
Sunday is our day of rest.
That’s why I like this day the best.
Yet my old rake’s about to call.
Since autumn’s leaves have begun to fall.
Perhaps it’s time to move out west?
The weekend’s only two days away.
Just keep the faith. You know we’ll play.
Locked gates will open to such great fun.
And if we’re lucky, we’ll play in sun.
Sure it’s hot, still cherish this day.
Winter’s just a mere three months away.
Is that guilt, she’s wearing on her face?
My toast is gone, and so’s the jam.
Sure hope that’s not the case.
There’s something about the morning light.
That gentle breeze.
The sun so bright.
Some take the time to savor all.
They know that soon it will be fall.
Wednesday morning’s blush.
Views at dawn bloom extra lush.
Every day’s a gift.