Soon, the time will come.
When both late and early dark
will surround the burning day,
chilling her fever,
and releasing a new fire of color.

When the playful winds will turn serious,
going about their task
with trenchant honesty and purpose.

Then, those who know not love
will search through gilded
forests and fields,
finding much fruit, and
harvesting much grain,
but no returning passion
will they see —
retreating into a poet’s silence,
at desks and writing tables,
staring off within
Autumn’s soulless embrace.