Brown

now the hazel thicket

Bleak

without green or cricket

Silent

like a troop on picket

fighting off loneliness

Crows

in the vacant woods

Muted

'neith their sabled hoods

Croaking

like ancient druids

their rhymes of emptiness

The woods

in forlorn reply

Echo

back a searching cry

Of Spring

and of days gone by

and of pasture's plentiness

Reflect

in the dimming quiet

Summer

comes with rolling riot

Here now

there is time to try it

in the woods of idleness