Nothing can drown the autumn’s fire, The leaves lie crisp on every spire. The bones of summer branch and crack, And nature finds it hard to track.

The breezes hold a bitter sound, The scent of memory wafts around. No dreams of spring in frost’s embrace, The harvests leave no lasting grace.

Yet in this cold, the heart still dares, To see the life beneath the stairs. Beauty stretches through the years, And every shadow holds its tears.

• Philip Larkin