The glorious days of autumn are here at last,
And once again we see the gold and scarlet leaves;
And feel the tingle of the cool night air,
And the lazy warmth of noonday through the leaves.
Autumn is a wonderful time for me,
Count school with it, though won't you please?
For, though we work from morn til night,
We still have time our crave to fun to please.
The yellow golden rod is now plentiful,
Out over the fields and along the paths and roads;
As we make our happy way to school,
To begin another mile down life's many roads.
Alice Snavely
The wind is softly blowing,
Against my window pane;
The night is dark but dreamy,
As softly falls the rain.
As I sit here writing,
Listening to the rain;
Memories flood my heart,
Memories which bring me pain.
I see a group of children,
Crowding around a fire;
A mother reading a Bible,
A scene which I admire.
No longer do we children,
Listen to Mother dear;
Read softly from the Bible,
As bedtime is drawing near.
Alice Snavely
The sun is going down just now,
The clouds are silver and gold;
The shadows are growing over the grass,
The valleys in darkness to hold.
Sunset in the hills is a pretty thing,
Nature's most beautiful sight;
Hills are silhouetted 'gainst the sky,
As the sunset fades into night.
Alice Snavely
Yet another of my Mom's poems
Cheerily
IJK
The Ozarks is nature's most beautiful thing,
No other place can compare;
The rollicking brooks, the birds that sing,
The flowers so pretty and fair.
The hills gently rolling to meet the sky,
Fields that are pretty and green;
The trees grow to meet the Maker on high,
Quaint cottages make up the scene.
The earth is at peace with God and man.
The sun shines warm from above;
Basking us in it's lazy warmth,
As we bask in God's love.
Alice Snavely
The next in the series of my Mom's poetry
Cheerily
IJK
Way down in south Missouri,
Before the sun goes over the hill;
It's "Get the cows now, Allie
They're just over in yonder rill."
It's a hot-foot out through the pasture,
Out where the daisies grow;
There's rocks and birds and trees and flowers,
That's where the cows like to go.
It's a lonely trip through the pasture,
And sometimes a cow may stray,
But it's always easy to find her,
For a bell will tell you the way.
It's back to the barn with the milk cows,
And out to the shed with the calves;
For down in South Missouri,
We don't do things by halves.
Then it's time for the milking,
And soon the milking's done;
Cows turned out, milk to the house,
And we're done with the setting sun.
Alice Snavely
This is the third in a series of poems written by my Mom in the mid to late forties.
Cheerily
IJK
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