The days are getting shorter.
A chill is in the air.
Many birds are flying South.
We see them here and there.
Strokes from God's paint brush
Paint the autumn leaves
In orange, red, and yellow hues,
Into pretty patterns, He weaves.
The harvest has been reaped
And has been safely gathered in.
We're ready for Thanksgiving Day
When we visit relatives and kin.
We are thankful for our blessings,
Which from our God overflowed.
There are so many, we can't count,
To us, our God hath bestowed.