November Morning
by Evaleen Stein

A tingling, misty marvel 
  Blew hither in the night, 
And now the little peach-trees 
  Are clasped in frozen light.



Upon the apple-branches 
  An icy film is caught, 
With trailing threads of gossamer 
  In pearly patterns wrought.


The autumn sun, in wonder, 
  Is gayly peering through 
This silver-tissued network 
  Across the frosty blue.



The weather-vane is fire-tipped, 
  The honeysuckle shows 
A dazzling icy splendor, 
  And crystal is the rose...


Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.
Faith Baldwin

Leaves
by Elsie N. Brady

How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun...

...At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare...


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