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There's a chill in the mornin' air as autumn in Vermont unfolds.
Splendor is revealed as trees assume their cloaks of reds and golds!
Fodder shocks gleam in the risin' sun and 'punkins' sport a tinge of rime.
Crimson and yellow apples are ready for pickin' havin' reached their prime!

In yon vale peekin' above the mornin' mists shines the steeple of a church,
Towerin' above the riot of color of its guardian trees and a grove of birch!
Skeins of snow geese wingin' southward grace the pristine sky.
The serenity of the autumn morn is shattered by their plaintive cry!

'Tis syrup renderin' time as maple trees surrender their free-flowin' sap.
Their hardy boles again withstand the trauma of an annual 'spinal' tap!
Apples are 'pressed into service' to make cider for sippin' by a cozy blaze,
As folks gather on winter eves to reminisce about the good ol' days!

Crusts of ice begin to form on streams flowin' 'neath covered bridges.
A dustin' of snow is tinted by the dawnin' sun on the yonder ridges!
Along country lanes the sun casts its mellow glow in the late afternoon.
On moonlit nights majestic stags are silhouetted against the harvest moon!

Families bundle up against the chill to enjoy hayrides and wiener roasts,
And toast marshmallows over a roarin' fire and tell of lurkin' ghosts!
An Indian summer is welcomed - the comin' winter gales it will delay.
Autumn in Vermont is more spectacular than even Mr. Rockwell could portray!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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