October is marigold, and yet

　　A glass half full of wine left out

　　To the dark heaven all night, by dawn

　　Has dreamed a premonition

　　Of ice across its eye as if

　　The ice-age had begun its heave.

　　The lawn overtrodden and strewn

　　From the night before, and the whistling green

　　Shrubbery are doomed. Ice

　　Has got its spearhead into place.

　　First a skin, delicately here

　　Restraining a ripple from the air,

　　Soom plate and rivet on pond and brook;

　　Then tons of chain and massive lock

　　To hold rivers. Then, sound by sight

　　Will Mammoth and Sabre-toothed celebrate

　　Reunion while a fist of cold

　　Squeezes the fire at the core of the world,

　　Squeezes the fire at the core of the heart,

　　And now it is about to start.