1I love the wicked skies of autumn,
And those empty skies of cold
That winter leaves to be forgotten
In the rubble of the old.
Wet and frosty morning breezes
Melted from the piles of snow,
That come in spring to leave with sneezes
And hang the summer's moon too low.
The skies of evening, skies of night
That fly away to skies of morn
That dance through bright and merry daylight
Into to twilight to be shorn.
The skies arrest me in their wonder
Beam me light and throw me rain
I love to see them torn asunder
And to see them whole again.
October 9, 2005.