I tried to write the blue skies and the brown grass with my pen,
But the page was still so white and the picture still so thin.
I added lines like fire to catch the rays of sun,
The page a fearsome empire, and I a hired gun.
I poured on sand by force and I scribbled in the waves,
But the beach scene was too coarse and it smeared across the page–
If only I could catch it in a hatchet-bearing phrase:
The apple fell like Newton’s and it hit me on the head–
Summer is to Fall what pancakes are to bread.