Autumn is icumen in
With tricks and treats
And all its whims.
I can't mourn
Summer's passing;
Those days
Of idle slumber.
Summer suns
And midnight moons,
The silhouettes of June;
Holiday highs,
Mad July;
The robust garden
Lust of August.
I won't.
Autumn air
Affronts my senses,
The Arctic cool
Dips and rules,
The moss has left
The trees,
Arthritic twigs
Let lose
The leaves.
Autumn is icumen in
Autumn,
With its foils
And foibles,
Rakes us with
Our harlequin sins,
And all its
Wherewithal.
Embrace your fall.
Winter is icumen in.
Francie Lynch
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-is-icumen-in/
