Down the Northwest Angle cross the brow of the Boundary’s claim <br />The northern wanders with no less purpose, than what it brings <br />Toward the River Valley from off The Mighty Range <br />In days gone short of purpose, it’s time for premonitions and lore <br />Billows breathe against The River will spill like sugar onto these braided plains <br />Temperance fetched by that ol man to feed my fears, touch me thin <br />Invade my crooked fingers, down my listing spine, linger at my splintered toes <br />I know your name <br />I feel you steal inside my bed <br />It’s time to hang the plow, barn the roan while this land lodges under shrouds of crystalline <br />Reticent soil falling sound reduced to mere footing and passage <br />Rest yourself, my friend, while we all voice our disapproval <br />And remember your loam stocked green and yielding <br />Time to bar the door, seal the pane and pray we see no fever <br />Stoke the fire to dissuade that shutter and sing something soft <br />For the ink of night will bring First Frost, my dear <br /> First Frost with morning light<br /><br />Pablo Cruise<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/first-frost-2/
