Tell time now by the frost-stiff grass
and how beneath shod feet it cracks
and heaves; by the curled leaves
skating on their edges in the street,
too late, too late; sun wheels,
trees go gold and bare, light fails
as the fat moon wanes and falls,
as great Orion girds to stand
and stride with sword and lion’s mane
across fields gleaming and gleaned.
As soon undo the flights of geese,
the first blooding of the apples
on the tree; as soon redeem
the few last ragged shards of day
and wish them whole; but summer,
the lake-deep blue silver summer’s bowl
once so lovely full, is broken.
Art credit: "Frosty Grass," image by unknown photographer.