FROM THE AUTUMN SCRAPBOOK - Our Class Poet Remembers Novembers of the Past

FROM THE AUTUMN SCRAPBOOK

The punkin's frosted, and dawn comes late,
The fodder's bound in the shock at last,
Flowers lie dead by the garden gate,
Soon comes the chill of a winter blast.
Now is the time for a hearth with embers,
Toasting the feet as it warms the soul--
Thinking on goodness, on past Novembers,
Letting our memories make us whole:

Tecumseh painted in warlike splendor;
Dragging a "queen" to the football game;
The Flying Squadron, a "fried" week-ender;
Kisses to set the heart aflame;
Chapel formation and room inspection;
Lacing of leggings for dress parade;
Standing of watches, "Report your section"--
Of scenes like these is a lifetime made.

RR 10-9-07