Dead leaves fall slowly onto dead grass.

It’s difficult to meet and more difficult to part.

Darkness descends like a raven’s closing wing.

As I watch you walk away, I see the moon

climb the sky with nowhere to abide.

Softly she is going up and a star or two beside.

From an unseen lake the lonely cry of a loon,

and the wind listless among languid flowers.

Above my head an indifferent cloud seems to sleep.

An icy rain reminds me it will soon be October.

A blackbird appears, having lost his way.

Unable to find a branch to perch on,

his image lingers in my mind for days.