The dying time of the year
For life is the growing time
For that which does not yet live:
The blizzards of fluffs.
Not only the unborn lives
spread, but ice storms are conceived
In the swirling leaves and frost
That purple the grass
When the air stills, soft mists show
Autumn's other face: red orange
Guiltily vivid 'gainst the
Muted cloud billows
Or the air freezes, taking
Winter's first gift - the cruelly
Blue skies. Light then shames the fog
Bringing Death to Life.