Autumn Is... Poem by robert dickerson

</></>Autumn is a pretty season:
We'd like him better than Spring
with her green conceit
and endless yodeling

But for the jackal lurking
in the roan chill:
Winter, meaninglessly cruel
who darkens the plaid hill

where it's shadow falls
and on whose smoking tongue
flicker and disappear
the very infirm and young,

but, who takes, too, the strong
and beautiful besides.
For this defer your dreams.
Rhein, reverse your stream.