|
'tis the season of mournful mists
and grasses heavy with dew
of drops of rain that doth weave
a melancholy song upon leaves
afore they to the ground do gently fall
of spiders webs all spun bedewed
and gossamer strings in zephyr drifts
of whitened morns so chill and rimed
as diamonds in the sky
of lazy days
of capricious winds
full of fit and of mischief
of the first of the snows
that dance and flit
of waning sun
and greying clouds
of a season that knows
it's just a herald
between the summer last
and winter soon.
of keeping warm by blazing flame
with toddy and chestnuts on the fire
of darkened morns and darkened eves
and candles in windows lit
to guide the love back home
|