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By Phyllis
Beebe
What
happened to Nature's gay dress this fall?
When
she put it on, she found that all
The red and
orange had faded to yellow.
She called the
designer a sorry fellow
To fob off a dull gold
and russet gown
For the bright one she usually
wore to town.
But the designer blamed it on
the dyer
And HE declared that it was the
fire
Of summer that faded every hue
And
there was nothing he could do
At this late
date. Nature could but concur
And put on early
her white winter
fur.
