(CCXLV)
Bare winter is not far behind when leaves
Are carried off their trees, to spread below
Their cheerful colours underfoot, or blow
Haphazard in the nippy winds, cold thieves
Of summer's carefree mood. When darkness cleaves
To life, o'erhanging shortened days, the show
Of Autumn's k'laidescope seems brave, since snow
Is in the wings as harvest binds its sheaves.
When stark against an o'ercast sky, devoid
Of verdant and fall's gaudy clothes, the trees
Stand bare, his footsteps' silent tread the buoyed
Hopes of fair Indian Summer seem to freeze.
For winter hastens his return, enjoyed
At length for his dear icey delicacies.
07Oct11