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| Autumn is coming. The cuckoo bird is silent along the hedges |
| She hides under stalks left from October's harvest. I see her red coat. |
| like a small brown cloud over the yellow cornfields swallows turn and rise |
| necklace of street lights through the rising river mists the Walt Whitman bridge |
| through the dark grey mist rising from the Delaware a lighted window |
| Bright red maple leaves dance through fields of goldenrod. Is death this lovely? |
| crisp autumn yellow: leaves of the sugar maple, the old manuscript |
| beside the sand dunes brown tips dancing to drum beats: cat-tails in the wind |
| The salamander, mottled gold among oak leaves, escapes the eagle. |
