a partial sort of wondering, a loss
of focus, and of balancing too much
at once amid the chaos, and the cost
of seeing what you can’t afford to touch
the stirring of an echo; weariness
that comes in indolence and fading gray,
as autumn wants to come, but bleariness
keeps every bright’ning vision far at bay
and noise, that great invader of the peace
comes in with muddy boots and has its way,
while gentle admonitions’ slow decrease
and disappear, as nothing more than play
but fall will bring its promise and portend
the calm that comes when all of this will end
