October is a gypsy month.
Her petticoats are gay
With red and gold and purple hues
Edged in dovelike gray.
She flutters scarves of downy mist
And scatters golden light.
She dances through the fallen leaves
And laughs in pure delight.
October is a gypsy month
With sunflowers in her hair.
She’s lavish with her wealth of fruit
And harvests everywhere.
She flits along the country lanes
And drifts among the trees.
She calls to every southbound bird
And blesses all she sees.