I know it's Fall

I know it's Fall
    cos my knees are cold
They'll get used to it
    as i will
    this reformed Thyrsus of mine
    but warmer dressed
A storm in a huff
    precipitates hailstones
    drumming its heels on the roof
    so i look out, startled
    and a zealous wind
    fall's janitor
    is thrashing the cedars and cherries
    until they writhe
    . . .  leaving behind
    this seamless layer of cloud
    like the underside of a massive broadloom
    barefaced as a tart at a wake

"Stay in!" you counsel
    "It will clear later"
But this is the seasonal cusp
    when dozing waterfowl
    open the other eye
    and recall timely invitations
    to greet the sun elsewhere
Probability is
    it won't let up tomorrow
Dash it! Mustn't get broody
    turn on the heater
    choose an easy chair and book:
    that mystery set in sultry Baetica
           switch to a brighter station
          rummaging as thought will
        to a destination
A poem, celebrating
    the shorter rotation of the sun
    after the Equinox:

O Fall, Thou Fell Antagonist
            and Usurper
    Who dids't Maternal Summer
        swipe with barbarous hand
    Anent Thine own o'erhasty accession ...

Sorry, can't continue. I feel old
    Maundering!
I see my own countenance
    in Summer's decline
    and Fall's succession
    A matching parody
Can't get broody
    A cup of tangy Ceylon tea
    my compatible chair
    the book and Thou, my Dearest
    always in my thoughts

Oh, Fall, welcome!
    But wipe Thy nose!
Unruly gusts, white-rimed frosts
    and scouring rains
    you summon;
    and if your temper suits
    that peerless antithesis:
    Indian Summer
Lucky i am to salute Thee
    in my seventy-first year


mcmxcvii