Along the rocky bank, the asters purple-flung.
At the grown-over pasture gate,
the ground is strewn with hickory husks still
green. On the shop threshold, one
white nut lies, lost by the squirrels traveling
high. Jerusalem artichokes have crossed
half the wild garden, bending tall
as soldiers, their heads ready
to burst into small yellow suns
just before the frost.
Along the black roads and topping hills,
green to red is flaming in a wild blue sky.
Oh, this glutted abandon before the cold!
All this fatness of chipmunk and squirrel.
The thick, rough coats of fox and deer,
red in the falling sun. The bittersweet running
red and green along the tumbled wall.
And the gay black cricket,
singing.
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