The cold burns in flaming frostbite,
And the trees are shedding their clothes.
And the geese resent sullen light,
And where they've gone, God alone knows.

The frost caught a million tears,
And the dawn exposes His acts.
And the lawn reflects Summer's fears,
And the long grey smears and the blacks.

The squirrels rush to hole their treasures,
And their footsteps fall like fall rain.
And they loot before, behind blurs,
And they're blind to the plain and slain.

The "crack," the rush, the lone man's shout,
And the live fall to feed his young.
And the ivy tree hangs about,
And these are all songs unsung.