The first sorrow of autumn br Is the slow goodbye br Of the garden who stands so long in the evening- br A brown poppy head, br The stalk of a lily, br And still cannot go. br br The second sorrow br Is the empty feet br Of a pheasant who hangs from a hook with his brothers. br The woodland of gold br Is folded in feathers br With its head in a bag. br br And the third sorrow br Is the slow goodbye br Of the sun who has gathered the birds and who gathers br The minutes of evening, br The golden and holy br Ground of the picture. br br The fourth sorrow br Is the pond gone black br Ruined and sunken the city of water- br The beetle's palace, br The catacombs br Of the dragonfly. br br And the fifth sorrow br Is the slow goodbye br Of the woodland that quietly breaks up its camp. br One day it's gone. br It has only left litter- br Firewood, tentpoles. br br And the sixth sorrow br Is the fox's sorrow br The joy of the huntsman, the joy of the hounds, br The hooves that pound br Till earth closes her ear br To the fox's prayer. br br And the seventh sorrow br Is the slow goodbye br Of the face with its wrinkles that looks through the window br As the year packs up br Like a tatty fairground br That came for the children.