I have been one acquainted with the night I have walked out in rain — and back in rain I have out-walked the furthest city light.

This morning I ask only The blessing of the crayfish, The beautitude of the birds; To wear the skin of the bear In my songs; To work like a man with my hands.

Twisting, turning through the air Till all the trees stand stark and bare. Exhausted, drop to earth below To wait, like children, for the snow.

Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened. And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.

Elections belong to the people. It’s their decision. If they decide to turn their back on the fire and burn their behinds, then they will just have to sit on their blisters.

Mornings crisp as carrot sticks With trees the tone of chimney-bricks; The sun sets, brilliant tangerine, As pumpkins grin for Halloween.

A dried leaf crumbles at a touch, But I have seen many Autumns With herons blowing like smoke Across the sky.

Everyone of them words rang true and glowed like burning coal, pouring off every page like it was written in my soul from me to you.

Listen! The wind is rising, And the air is wild with leaves, We have had our summer evenings, Now for October eves!

White-fingered star, a little, childish thing, The busy needle of her light to bring, And stitch, and stitch, upon the dead day’s shroud.

There is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been!

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.

So here’s an end of roaming On eves when autumn nighs: The ear too fondly listens For summer’s parting sighs, And then the heart replies.

The high horses of the sea broke their white riders On the walls that held and counted the hours The wind lasted.

I hear you call, pine tree, I hear you upon the hill, by the silent pond Where the lotus flowers bloom, I hear you call, pine tree.

The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

Across the lonely beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I, And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.

Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.

I thought of you and how you love this beauty, And walking up the long beach all alone I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder As you and I once heard their monotone.

A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July – Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear.