Autumn On The Family Farm Poem by Isadora Quagmire

As the colors of fall begin to turn,
And red the leaves brightly burn.
Scents of cinnamon and maple fill the air,
The frost falls thick'ning its lay'r.

Thanksgiving is coming,
Pumpkins are ripening,
Apples red we're picking,
Maple brown we're tapping.

Lakes are freezing, ice is coating the river,
Now night falls so much quicker.
There is bountiful work to be done,
Hard work, yet fun.

Forest trees are quieting,
The birds are leaving,
Squirrels their food stashing,
Much firewood we're stacking.

There's nothing like working with each other.
We, sisters and brothers,
Are all ready for the glad celebrations,
And family traditions!