Grey rain flails through trembling naked trees
all green has fled and orange and red as well
and I have stored the hoses rakes and seeds,
dragged sadly out the shovels for white hell.
October gave us two bright days as gifts
the rest we shall forget but not forgive
November spits around the coming drifts
And cackles chillingly in songs morbid
And I regret the storage of fond tools
the lawnmower and my busy pruning shears
and see in coming shovels tools for fools
And winter’s heavy burden heartsick fears
But though chill icicles wedge means apart
Still golden dreams of summer warm my heart.