Retire! and rest
those overripe
throats now
all you—blessed fat
bands
of little finches!
Charmed
though
our cottonbrown
bedraggled sidewalks are—
by
your catchpenny
dotted quarter
profusions of chirping;
a thicker pall—
of dull
autumn now calls—for a
somewhat less supple
frugal black
outline—unaccompanied
of just—once in a windgust
a single
and
distant—
desiccated caw.
