By Lawrence Hall
Word Count: 92
Summary: The poet muses on the weather.
An errant frog’s the only voice to sing
The day to sleep in this warm, blustery dusk.
The whippoorwill of yesternight is still;
The deep-voiced owl is silent too. The wind
And damp have silenced even the twilight dogs
(Do dogs make paw to the doghousey wood?)
The grasses sigh, the bare oak branches hum,
The long-dead autumn leaves blow this way, that;
The clouds – they darken, lower, hover, grim
Upon the land, where winter ought to rest.