Fields with corn erect in shock,
Few unpicked ears yet dangle.
A signal to soon set back the clock,
Wind caroms from a nor-west angle.
Leaves of gold crunch neath my feet,
My joints scream, "Old Jack Frost is nigh"!
I unwittingly question this October treat,
Whether for my head only, and if so, why?
Pumpkins remain randomly spaced,
As dollops of orange paint on this fall day.
By a flick of God's brush they appear placed,
From the sky above of dapple-gray.
This yearly picture always gives me pause,
For reflection on life, and God above;
That He would give His Son with cause,
The price for my sin was paid through love.