There comes a day in all Septembers,
Wherein Ocala fair remembers,
The beauty her visage will bear,
When Autumn winds excite the air.
But then Ol' Summer comes again,
And reestablishes his reign:
He melts our ice cream, crocs, and tires,
Till graceful Fall the the crown acquires.
The hellish, humid heat gives way,
A gentler warmth imbues the day;
The sunlight gains a golden hue,
Which makes the fading leaves look new.
Ripe acorns fall abundantly,
And squirrels grow fatter tree by tree;
We rake the pine straw into heaps,
Awaiting eager little leaps.
Costume pieces are collected,
Last years jeans are resurrected;
Kids count days till Trick-or-Treating,
Tractor rides and turkey eating.
One fateful day a chilly breeze,
Will makes us shiver, sniff, and sneeze,
But till it comes the world is ours,
Soothed by Autumn's calming powers.
Tag: playing
Manhunt
I fear the hunter's after me,
I must get quickly to that tree,
In the shadows I'll be free,
Far from the fire.
The hunter now comes into sight,
It seems that I was all too right,
Into my legs I throw my might,
The threat is dire.
Now I'm running really fast,
The other players stand aghast,
My strength is fading-one more blast,
I cannot tire.
Finally I reach the dark,
And grasp for handholds on the bark,
From here I see the fire's spark-
-ling, blazing spire.
I pull myself into the leaves,
I think the tagger still believes
I'm on the ground; my body heaves
In leafy bier.
The hunter comes and looks around,
I'm pretty sure I've been unfound,
He jogs away; I hit the ground,
And dodge a mire.
Now the hunter's off my tail:
I've once again evaded jail!
I sprint across a forest trail,
My spirits higher.
Thus we play that hallowed game,
Nocturnal tag-Manhunt by name,
Scratched and bruised and glad we came,
Unto the fire.
Stick
If you find a good stick,
A sound stick, a strong stick,
A stick that doesn't crack
When it's whacked against a tree;
If you find a good stick,
A straight stick, a long stick,
Then come and find me in among the trees so I can see!
It can be a broadsword,
An old one, a sharp one,
We'll hunt out all the monsters
Lurking just behind the trees.
It can be a standard,
A tall one, a carved one,
A handkerchief can be the flag which billows in the breeze.
It can be a hiking staff,
A worn one, a trusty one,
We'll venture through the forest
Climbing over every rock.
It can be a ships oar,
A great one, a sturdy one,
A swing will be our vessel with the playground as a dock.
Or it can be our good stick,
Our sound stick, our strong stick,
The stick we found this morning
Lying underneath a tree,
Yes, it'll be our good stick,
Our straight stick, our long stick,
We'll take it home and play with it tomorrow, you and me.
Sticksword 