Gray rain seeps through the fall
of played-out clouds, loops among hills,
ragged mountains; flexes and thins cut, contoured fields.
He tears off summer’s dress,
exposes trunk and limb, threatens
worse coming. Yet he brings gifts…
Gone is the old grove of green trees
Gone is the once-young, dancing body I had
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To … Continue reading