The air sharp
With the scent of fall;
At dawn, roofs
White as a shroud,
But no frost yet
Upon the ground.
Behind the houses
Cloud towers billow,
Argosies
Looming high;
To the west,
Strata of a front,
As gray bars mar
A calm peach sky.
Tonight will freeze
Turning leaves,
And rain barrels ice
To glassy panes;
Winter dreams
Will fill my sleep,
While silent frost
Whitens the ways.
