I know autumn is a Shopclerk
With many treasures for sale;
October finds her hard at work
Crying her wares through woods an dale.
She'll trade your stormy summer gale
For a gentle, chameleon rain,
And, if you follow on her trail
She'll barter you a clovered plain.
In the field where cows have lain
She'll buy your song with ripened grain. Night Dark night surrounds all.
He clutchees the day