Never be Lost

In her place she speaks.

Of long fall’s former pose.

When the message of her bite sneaks.

And she has a colder nose.

The fresh bite of the season soon just blasts.

The timid shudder under a branch.

And the stomach of one in cold fasts.

In a scene where the land begins to blanch.

When the first snap occurs and all is done.

The people look about and see.

All of autumn then, is on the run.

And frost and wind they’ll be.

The snow will cough the truth about frost.

The beauty of winter will never be lost.