J. C. Chadwick

RAIN-SOFTENED, mellow

Sunshine of waning November

Dapples the apple-leaves russet and amber and yellow—

Don’t you remember?

Trailing behind him

Jocund red fungus-heads, why does he hide in December

Where we can’t find him?

Changed to a frost-crimsoned, orange-faced, sleep-headed fellow—

Blizzards behind him?