Summer is dying in the purple and gold and russet <br />of the falling leaves of the wood, <br />and the sunset clouds are dying <br />in their own blood. <br /> <br />In the emptying public gardens <br />the last strollers break their walk <br />to lift their eyes and follow <br />the flight of the last stork. <br /> <br />The heart is orphaned. Soon <br />the cold rains will be drumming. <br />'Have you patched your coat for winter! <br />Stocked potatoes against its coming?'<br /><br />Hayyim Nahman Bialik<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-is-dying/
