Dark days they are, and nights are darker still,

and barren branches claw the feeble sun,

when autumn breathes its last in winter’s chill.

 

No more we’ll hear the cheerful songbird’s trill

now they have flown, these wintry shores to shun;

Dark days they are, and nights are darker still.

 

No more soft sundown’s balmy breezes filled

with clouds of gnats whose season now is done,

when autumn breathes its last in winter’s chill.

 

No more lethargic evenings with the thrill

of barbeques and parties, having fun;

Dark days they are, and nights are darker still.

 

No more long walks across the wooded hill,

through undergrowth where spider’s webs are spun,

when autumn breathes its last in winter’s chill.

 

The countryside will hold its breath until

with sudden spring, once more the streams will run;

Dark days they are, and nights are darker still,

when autumn breathes its last in winter’s chill.