The autumn winds will soon bring frost
foretelling colder air to come
so before the last of warmth is lost
we'll pick the last sweet summer plum

Let's walk the woods and pull on vines
shaking loose from the high canopy
purple juicy muscadines
from which we'll make some wine, maybe

Now, while worn leaves still are green
with poplars, only, showing gold
while doves and humming birds still preen
and buck antlers are growing bold

It won't be long 'till time of coats
and ice covers the old fence wire
when all that's green is winter oats
driving us to warm before hearth's fire