I would like to be Autumn;
In dark, bothersome clouds
That haunt Summer and Spring
In their prosperous homes,
My harsh visage would lurk
For six months of the year.
And keeping my promise,
One day mid-September,
I mount the North Wind,
And with bellows and howls,
Strike sweet chill in warm lungs.

I would like to be Autumn;
It seems funny to me
To lean down and whisper
In the ear of a tree
A thing which so horrifies
The deep confident green
Blanches out of its leaves,
Not to return until Spring
Softly scratches its back
With sharp rays of bright sun.

I think I am Autumn,
My clothing all torn
By switches and branches
Clawing into the sky.
Soon tired and bored,
I am waiting for Winter--
The line that divides us
Is but written in snow--
So calm and so white come January,
Now, icy blind, ends my song.