I didn’t know what Emily Dickinson saw when Autumn beckoned her to write this poem. Maybe it’s the same thing I saw today.
AUTUMNThe morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry’s cheeck is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I’ll put a trinket on.