Oh, fickle season, you have promised winter’s been repelled,
But curling leaves and frigid air mark you blunt deceiver,
There’s a chill pervading tonight, that cannot be dispelled,
Untimely demise, infant growth, implicit believer,
Just this morn, I spied a robin red flirting on the sill,
Timid peeking from behind the spiny pussywillow,
One frail yellow-budded shrub impatient holding back until
The lonely mourning dove comes seeking her mossy pillow,
The scared and peeling, hulking elm nodding its approval
With pecking intruder tapping out frantic rhythmic beat,
A carpet of wasting leaves now heaped, await removal,
Depart soon, wicked fomenter of discontent complete.
Claire V. Bogdanos 