The harvest dust has left the air,
The rain is all applause,
The stage is set, if slightly wet,
And garlanded with haws.
The ivy whispers affably,
The crows tune up their throats,
The old man’s beard lights up his pipe
Of tumbling tufty motes.
The squirrels all have snacks to bring,
The whistling mice are practising,
The jay is dancing in the aisles,
The alto swan has come for miles,
The spiders string their instruments,
The moths all find their seats
And the leaves play the piano as they fall.