Sullenly, the primrose-pale, last patch of sun br Sets slowly in a moody, milky sky; br Above it, dissipated aircraft trails, br Their destinations long since arrived at, drift br Semi-disdainfully across some crude br Rough lumps of clumpy, humpy cumulus. br And, in the sulky atmosphere, hang, br Heavy in the wind-less afternoon, br The autumn trees, slumped apathetically, br Too enervated yet to shed their leaves br Still reluctant, as if they are forced to wait br For the chiding, biting breeze to shake them, like me, br Out of our indolent complacency.