when
the apple skin
is fit enough for breaking
there will be
just as you said-
pomp and merrymaking
I'll weave a cozy nest for us
beside a faery dell
and sing the song of stardust
on a lute of kitten's paw shell
but when the apple tree is dead,
though the taste of fruit may linger,
it will be just as I said-
Unenviable December
the song will chill among bows,
seldom will be heard the music-
we'll know the place like wedding vows
broken for our own amusement
in the autumn, all is woven-
nests and throaty strings
in the winter forest
no birds sing
-Brian Bigley