Forerunner of Winter
by Marguerite Alvis Venable
Now the bright autumn days have spent their gold.
Gone is the burnished leaf.
Delicate reds have flamed, and drifted down;
Wildfire on the hill was brief.
Comes bleak November now, to herald cold.
Wind has a frosty sting -
Earth wears a look of bareness and of grey,
Hearthfire is a blessed thing.