The Year is Done

I don’t think I like the way of roads

That make the tires skip and slide

In winter days when ice and snow

Cause collisions and alter pride

I much prefer the roads of spring

In which the dry pavement hugs

The tires and makes me smile

Though the windshield streaks with bugs

Where summer sun beats down so hot

It makes the day burn slowly

Yet we can swim and bathe at will

And night comes late demurely

Autumn seems the blessing

Of the year for travel and for fun

While leaves fall and bridges rattle

We are grateful when the year is done