Autumn

For prelude to this blog, see blog of 5/15/2010...

Fall
by young Garnet

Fall always seems about a week,
Because the leaves don't last long.
For months it's colored leaves we seek,
And then so soon they're gone.

Thanksgiving comes in later Fall,
With turkey, and stuffing, and pie.
Pretty soon comes cold weather and all,
And snow begins to fly.

The colors of Fall are really bright,
With oranges and yellows and reds.
It's time to go and rake the leaves
With the sun shining on our heads.

Fall is the best season;
The colors are bright and gay.
School is the reason
That everything is gray.

Ghost Walk
by grown-up Garnet

The shadows fall
As dark descends.
The wind-blown leaves
Their rustle sends
Down quiet streets
Of darkened town-
‘Tis Halloween
So gather ‘round...

I’ll tell you
On this moonlit night
Of things not mentioned
In the light-
This town you know
So well by day,
Familiar streets and houses may
Look bright and charming,
Quaint and old
But listen, my friends,
As the tales unfold...

First stop, here
By this stately home
Where the ghost of girl
Upstairs does roam.
She peers out the window
Some nights, ‘tis said
And when she’s seen
She turns her head...

And down the street
The town Library
(The last place you’d think
You would find something scary)-
The ghost of a lady,
Petite and brown,
Stands reading a book
When no one’s around.

The train station boasts
The ghost of a train
Though only the whistle
Is said to remain
At 3:00 you may hear
Its shrill sound through the air
But when you look...
There’s nothing there.

When it’s summertime
And the Five and Dime
Is busy and in full gear,
If you’re lucky
You may be waited on
By the ghost of a certain cashier.
Discreet and cheerful
She pitches in,
Unnoticed in the fuss-
But the management’s left to puzzle when
Folks ask who this kind lady was.

And now we’ll stop
At the Coffee Shop-
A former bank, you see,
Which is said to harbor
The ghost of a man
Who met his death when he,
Depressed by the Crash of ‘29,
Leapt into Eternity.

In the theater
Next to the Grand Hotel
A rose-scented ghost-
You can always tell
By her fragrance
The Actress’s returned
Somehow,
And refuses to take
Her final bow.

Ah, now you shiver
With cold and fright!
You run for the beam
Of the nearest street-light.
But come, let’s continue
Our frightful walk-
There’s more ghostly tales
Just down the block!

Note: The Ghost Walk really happens every year in North Conway, New Hampshire. The poem is based on the tales told during that spooky tour of the town.