FALL by Aileen Fisher

The last of October
We lock the garden gate.
"The flowers alive all withered
That used to stand straight.
The last of October
We put the swings away
And the porch looks deserted
Where we like to play.
The last of October
The birds have all flown,
The screens are in the attic,
The sand pile's all gone;
Everything is put away
Before it starts to snow---
I wonder if the ladybugs
Have any place to go.