Thrift

The autumn sun begins to sink
As puffy clouds turn slightly pink
And geese veer south in giant Vs
While orange leaves swirl in the breeze

When vision dims a hunter may
Crawl through the trees in search of prey
Its silver shafts will pierce the heart
Of any predisposed towards art

And in the larder we shall store
What we can spare, that’s what it’s for
The winter’s colder than we think
The autumn sun begins to sink.