Friday, November 1, 2019

Last Week in October



The trees are undressing, and fling in many places -
On the gray road, the roof, the window-sill -
Their radiant robes, and ribbons, and yellow laces;
A leaf each second so is flung at will,
Here, there, another and another, still and still.



A spider's web has caught one while downcoming,
That stays there dangling while the rest pass on;
Like a suspended criminal hangs he, mumming
In golden garb, while one yet green, high yon,
Trembles, as fearing such a fate for himself anon.

Thomas Hardy

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