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.