Richard's Poor Almanac by Richard Thompson for October 24, 2019
in the autumn a poem in the autumn, when it's fall, mother nature comes to call on every hill, in every dale, in forest, meadow, field & vale, with skill she wields her magic brush, so brings the trees to brilliant blush mother nature: we'll do the next one in a sort of harvest gold. squirrel 1: she knows they're just going to drop off, right? squirrel 2: you tell her. with her palette, bright & rich, and her taste for showy kitsch.