A Question

Is there any sweeter melancholy, than an autumn day?

A poem for the coming of autumn

The leaves refuse to fall

And the weather will not turn

The palette not a pleasant hue of brown and red but vibrant still and green

The air not of books and ivy but of lazy afternoons and cool, fresh iced tea

The sweater does not warm but itch, the coffee it accompanies bringing sweat upon the brow

The fruit, and wheat, and barley stand defiant in the feild, unwilling to give up their crop

Where are you my friend?