October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers. Soon these will slip from out the twig's weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers. (Thomas Bailey Aldrich) 4
October
October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers. Soon these will slip from out the twig's weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers. (Thomas Bailey Aldrich)