gardens shrink in October blights,
this month of them all is cruel
to take the leaves and warm air, too.
And yet when sunlight pinks a cloud,
or morning mist calm lakes enshroud,
this month of all is sweet, it seems,
a time for peace--a time for dreams.
And if you feel the wind's cold bite,
then face the sun, still warm and bright.
And if at dusk the color fades,
then watch the sky, alive with shades.
This month of them all is dear,
this month, most, is calm and clear,
as empty trees bring forth to light
the scenes two seasons hid from sight,
and find, each morning, that the grass
has, fairy-touched, turned into glass.
For all these things and more I stay
to watch the geese go on their way,
as sunlight limns each thing in golds,
cast as if from precious molds.