(In nove otto form.)
Warm winds are gone, the air is still
And night falls now with biting chill,
The land is brown, the trees are bare.
The warming sun is waning fast
As summer slips away at last,
A snap of cold is in the air.
I watch the leaves dance on the breeze,
Abandoned, gray, the barren trees,
As Winter creeps forth from her lair.