I know autumn is a Shopclerk
With many treasures for sale;
October finds her hard at work
Crying her wares through woods an dale.
She'll trade your stormy summer gale
For a gentle, chameleon rain,
And, if you follow on her trail
She'll barter you a clovered plain.
In the field where cows have lain
She'll buy your song with ripened grain. Night Dark night surrounds all.
He clutchees the day
With smokey hands
And closes her eyes
With whispered songs
amd sighs.