Summer's Breath

As the leaves turn brown,
I turn empty.

While days grow short,
I grow sluggish.

Each dreary morn,
my eyes beg to close.

As Winter clasps
his hands around my neck,
Summer's breath
is forced from my lungs.

Choose Something like a Star [Robert Frost, 1947]

O Star [the fairest one in sight]
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obsurity of cloud--
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

Count on Me

Don't make me choose
between all of you
or none,
'cause I promise,
I swear,
you won't like the result.

Don't make me pick
between no fence
or a Jericho wall,
'cause I promise,
I swear,
the wall won't be tumblin' down.

When it comes
to all or nothing,
count on me
to count you out.