Fickle Fall

The leaden sky. the sodden earth,
Not our view of October;
Though morning hopes for all its worth,
It enters dank and sober.

Summer came back, spurts of joy,
September sun and warmth arising;
Behind looms winter to annoy;
When it comes, it’s still surprising,

Remember anticipating June;
Sun shone longer, growth advanced.
The nesting birds warbled their tune;
Feet skipped and fairly danced.

It’s just today, a Sunday morn;
What it brings is ever new.
Cloud-laden morning gloom, we scorn;
October may turn—bright blue.