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