by George Poe
Dappling droplets against the pane,
Vermillion leaves glissading by,
Silently, sibilantly falls the rain.
Summer's gone the dead leaves say,
Echoed by the wind's soft sigh.
The tall old elms nod and affirm,
Garden flowers weakly turn
To a pallis sun that has lost its' burn.
Yes, gone, gone, they all confirm
Wintertime is neigh