suddenly the light was turned away
leaving warm colours only behind
when sun is kissing the earth good by
cold winds start slowly to creep and cry
they hustle and whistle to another shade
breathless under the tall pale chestnut tree
there are hiding all the little creatures of the glade
they hope for a season of mildness and grace
while picking the last treasures and stow them away
a fallacious sensation of safety does arise
but who can know what the Mother has in mind
finally in Her arms we all our heads will lay