Vivid, easy leaf-fall in light rain,
The forest laying down her carpet for the cold,
Each purling breeze a song in thinning crowns
To be remembered soon as used to be,
As I remember us in verdancy,
The you and me —the could have been,
If I were ever more than your chauffeur,
And you were ever more than quarantee
Against alone — the pinnate and the ovate
On the stones, the beeches in burnt gold,
The oaks in stubborn green still hanging on,
The crows decrying in the mist
What should and shouldn't be.
