Issue 17, Autumn-Winter 1957
We woke together, arm in arm,
Deep in the summer loft,
Over the sleeve of ravelled sill
Crept the delicate frost.
We walked beside the breezy barn,
The garden sprung its weeds,
The tumbling hares ran everywhere
To crop the fallen seeds.
We paced the shuttered porch alone,
A nest of morning stars
Swung to, swung fro above the gate,
The cold let down its bars.
We saw the eyeless spider build,
In sounds of old repair,
His night of torn and broken threads
Across the sagging chair.