End of Autumn
B. Babcock
I have seen for some time now
the change in everything.
Something arises and acts
and kills and brings suffering.
In the gardens now from day to day
is a change from green
to yellow and gray,
a slow dying-away:
how long my road has been.
Now I stand in this emptiness
and look down the rows of trees.
Almost to the distant sea
the foreboding earnestness
of the sky lies heavily.