Autumn

No snow this morning,
But mist clouds dimly
The city that isn’t asleep.
The air is too dry
And the falling leaves whisper
And cover the ground knee-deep.

They rustle in piles where they fell,
And they gather
In nooks near old stone walls.
They wait for the first chilly steps
Of the season–
The blanket of first snowfall.

And skies like a platinum lake,
Thick and heavy
Look down on a city of gray.
And trees bow down
To the herald of winter,
The slow North wind of the day.

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