October

The month is amber,
  Gold, and brown.
Blue ghosts of smoke,
  Float through the town,

Great V’s of geese
  Honk overhead,
And maples turn
  A fiery red.

Frost bites the lawn.
  The stars are slits
In a black cat’s eye
  Before she spits.

At last, small witches,
  Goblins, hags,
And pirates armed
  With paper bags,

Their costumes hinged,
  On safety pins,
Go haunt a night
  Of pumpkin grins
 

John Updike