The Sundogs

The golden leaves are gone, and in the west
The sundogs warn that ice is in the air.
Though winter hasn’t won the contest yet
The sunny days become more dear, more rare.

Dark clouds flow from the north,
The mountain fades from sight.
Wild winds blow back and forth
As autumn day turns into winter night.

Tomorrow I will find the dreaming place
Blessed yesterday by golden autumn’s grace,

And I will drift and dream there once again
As snowflakes fall and winter closes in.