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