Why does my skin prickle in the morning air,
and my breath escape in a blowing mist?
Why are the leaves so sodden
with dripping dew?
What happened to the sultry softness
of my summer's morning?
Why does the grass no longer stretch
its greenery before me,
but stands starkly attired in a crystal coat?
What happened to the warm swell
of my summer morning?
Why! Biting Jack Frost has returned;
sending my soft summer morn
fleeing southward with the winging birds.