Creeps
In
On
Little
Flat
Feet
As
The
Apples
Grow
Sweet,
And
The
Leaves
Fade
To
A
Muted
Shade.
My
Summer
Clothes
Are
Too
Thin
To
Bear
The
Cooling
Wind,
And
I Open
The
Trunk
Of
Winter
Junk,
Sorry
To
Lose
Warmth’s
Easy
Grace,
To
Face
The
Cold
With
Only
My
Old
Coat
And
Hat,
And
Once
Again,
Make
Do
With
That.