Autumn. The sun declines to the occident;

clouds wander, reddish and overcharged

of that red and ardent hemoptysis —

in the waters of the creeks mirrored.

Continuous screeches a car; and, by goading,

the oxen, yoked, they come, morosely,

highway down... Beyond, sad ballads

descant the mockingbird, in the foliage, perched.

The night goes down, calm, the wind roars,

the little dove still moans, the cattle moos

and the belfry clanging cries.

Regret creeks, the countrywoman prays

and she seems to regret the Nature