Lest thoughts be left lingering, be it cleft or lost, Cut off your probing finger, Bitten by the the Frost. The Leaves are Brown and Falling, They crackle as they blow, Paper thin and Autumnal, A Precursor to N'ver Ending Snow, My mind ain't right, And this sorrowful night, Wet grey clouds fill my sky, Begging me Tomorrow morning To sleep in and not try Look forward to the terror, and let the horror be felt last, I am a simple poet, A creature of years long past.