Hail, lady Moon, silvering crimson hills,
while honey bees seal up last golden combs.
Again through twilight forest, barn owl roams,
hooting to keep his mate informed of kills—
field-mice murdered where the old mill-stream spills.
Ants secret their larvae in hidden rooms,
fearful of spider and her cunning looms.
Heron finishes pruning broken quills;
he plans to escape before pond freezes,
before minnow dies, or trout or frog sleeps.
Feet, beak and pinions provide all his wealth.
Fox wanders widely, does what he pleases.
Mockingbird chuckles, and whippoorwill weeps—
yet winter will not seize either by stealth.
