Poem of Autumn br br It is getting dark… br I feel the cold; br The snuffing out of the light br By a prim butler in long tails br And a white glove. br A long, wooden pole br With a burnished cup, that chokes the last flame br Of Summer, br from a gas-lit lamp. br br It is night now, br br All souls to their bedposts, br Time for most to go to sleep, br And some, to quietly weep in their pillows. br br br br John Tansey 9.20.