That globe of fiery worship that we circle ev’ry year

Has made one more effort to hold dominion in the blue.

The falling back to lazy days, paused as clouds disappear

Seems distant, retrospectively, now that my mind is new.

Philosophies are made and changed through fallings of the leaves;

A rake and paper bag is all it takes to turn the cogs

That mingle with a past perspective, which not only grieves—

It screams, rejoicing discov’ries from self-made dialogues.

With hand in hand the kink that weakens will to idleness

Skips merrily with premature darkness until the Spring.

I’m seasoned with the backwards ways of my stark remissness;

I love with love unparalleled, although it’s just a fling.