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. 

A Child’s Calendar, 1965
by John Updike