Classic Poem

bite the hard cool
apple of the air!

The season of muscatel has come
when the squirrel runs
up the tree fornicating
and the deer bolts

and man reaches
for his calking gun
and paint brush

and the middle aged hiker
throws his shoulders back
Look at him go!

This is lavender and rose
time in drawers

when the sun is cooler but more blinding
and the maple leaves distil its light
into a cheerful red liqueur.

Now, wine bums,
the winter is long.
Elixir falls from the air
and even the misanthrope
's eye twinkles
in the commonplace.