The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit – William Cullen Bryant
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple tree. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I want to clear up a few myths about myself. People have written that I was a kindergarten teacher and a former Miss Texas, and neither is true. – Krista Allen