A Winter Banquet

Icicles
I can see
Icicles
When I close my
Icicles
eyes and breathe in the sighs of autumn.

A song for the ending day is rolling through my head
But I don't have hills to climb or instruments to play
So I just walk through tree-lined backstreets
Walking away the autumn afternoon.

It's eighty degrees, you say; the chill hasn't set in.
Your fancy's carried away your sense. But,
no, I can already taste a winter banquet:

Cold wind.
Snowballs.
Icicles.