Boston in the Fall

This one has been forming in my head since I went home for break a couple of weeks ago. It's still a work in progress, but it deserved to be written.

This morning on my window
An icy work of art
Jacks frosty calling card
Yet by the sun unmarred.

There's a crispness in the air
As I leave the house this morning
There is ice upon the lake
As only cold can make.

The leaves upon the trees
A burgeoning raging fire
Orange, Yellow, flaming red
Beautiful though almost dead.

I love this time of year
When Boston's at its best
The frost, the leaves, the wintry chill
Fall gives my soul a happy thrill.

Now I'm back at school in southern Tennessee.
Yet deep within this warm and sunny place
I still hear the forests burning call,
And wish I were in Boston, in the Fall.