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Leaf Mould and Apple Rot
  Leaf mould and apple rot
  Taint the pavements
  And the breaths we draw above them
  Misty
  With the perfumes
  Of late November
  Day
  Constitutes an ever-waning chink
  Between the door and the frame we put it in
  It doesn’t seem all that long ago that September died
  Yet all have been wearied grey since
  In one passionate night
  The trees were all torn naked
  So they tremble
  Patient
  While the rains and the frosts skim their bones
   

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