Acorns stud damp concrete like buttons torn from autumn’s coat,
Undressed trees blush crimson, almost this drizzle’s antidote,
Today the clouds scurry as people refill each café,
Umbrellas are shaken, shut and then quickly tucked away,
My book stays closed, too, for the window has longer chapters,
Next to its view, I soon learn a season can be our captor.