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