Fall

The berries grow to nothing on the bush
The flowers and the trees have lost their leaves
Seeming as though the most minutest push
Would blow them over, while the cedar grieves
Its fallen friends, and promises to wait
The deadened snow time through 'til they arise
Unfolding once again their robes of state
And thrust their crownéd heads into the skies.
But for the moment all is gray and brown
Save for some hardy ferns and evergreens;
The turning season put their glories down
Matting all their iridescent sheens
Reminding us the dark is rising still
And has not yet begun to wane his will.