The Visitor


There is a certain visitor,
Who will be coming soon.
She visits only once a year.
We always prepare for her arrival in advance.
She comes with an attitude so contradicting,
That it scares away our warmer friend.
At first her eyes will change to a variety of colors,
Until she sheds dead, bronze tears which drift sadly to the ground.
Her hands are frigid and clammy.
Her feet crunch beneath my steps.
Her nose tends to be rather smokey,
And she often tastes of pumpkin.
Her ears sometimes rattle and shake.
Her breath is brisk and chilly,
And she'll blow a shiver down your spine.
Sometimes you'll hear her howl,
Especially during the night,
As if she's afraid of the darkness,
And the perrills of its unknown void.
Her name is Autumn,
And her presence will be undeniable.

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