With windows wide open and summer skin rests,
Fall pulls back his bow and aims at the crest.
Its cool thin arrow cuts through thick air,
It glimmers like silver and tickles the pear.
Slicing through wheat and brushing the sparrow,
It stirs up the hay that lay in your barrow.
Into the window and onto your breast,
Through thinly spun linen it kisses your chest.
Despite the dream and amongst it all,
You know you’ve been kissed by the coming of Fall.