turning golden.

the entire state is turning golden,
Midas's tassels blowing in the breeze.
even now as August turns,
the northern draft has that southern ease.

it's as if it tells us:
"hush up now, I have come to do my deed."
so we wait for the world to turn brown and golden,
so we wait for that first real freeze.

the farmer's are growing hesitant,
hoping to harvest their riches soon,
they'll toil and trouble through all of September,
and hope to work until October's full moon.

Outside my window the trees are still green,
and maybe they will stay so for a while,
but with the fields turning golden we know we can't hold in,
the changes and death that will come.