The month is amber,
Gold, and brown.
Blue ghosts of smoke
Float through the town,
Great V’s of geese Honk overhead, And maples turn A fiery red.
Frost bites the lawn. The stars are slits In a black cat’s eye Before she spits
At last, small witches, Goblins, hags And pirates armed With paper bags,
Their costumes hinged On safety pins, Go haunt a night Of pumpkin grins.
—John Updike
Amelia