Picture from

A poem written after reading Shakespeare’s sonnet

WHEN I do wake up to gentle wind
And hear too low a wild bird sing
So true lies autumn all designed
And the twilight that is changing.
’tis the time of the lowing sun
When the boiling rays no more burn,
’tis the season of the dimming bright
When sweet melons and apples delight.
A sweet time, a shade of days gone
A soft prelude to winter’s dawn.