The lavender is no longer in bloom
And the buddleia’s flowers are dry and gray
The trees are rich in orange and red
But brown is starting to have its way
It is that turning time of year
When chill nights follow shorter days
The neighbours ghosts and witches hang
From their garden gateways
And await the coming of the hoards
Wanting trick-or-treat to play
Padre
Padre's Ramblings 