As we summer murmurs its last goodbye and the leaves come out to play, here
are two brief musings to delight you:
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.
In the Library
The library always smells like this:
an ancient stew of vinegar and wood.
It’s autumn again,
and I can do anything.