The naked trees droop under an autumnal spell Leaves dry, pallid, crumpled Wander Like ghosts bereft of their graves. The freezing wind Lashing its spirit On the helpless and hapless, Howling through the sepulchral quietude Carries a wilting trousseau To life's Beloved; asleep in the clouds. With Yearning, my song And Hope, my lyre I shall play On the strings of love Stirring the misty veils To murmur. . .and rumble into wild showers Quenching my parched soul Splashing colors on the barren earth.
