Unlike all those nebbishes, who rejoice when September comes,
Excited to be once more wearing anoraks and flannel shirts,
To sip great mugs of steaming cocoa from beside a fire or beneath
A ragged heirloom quilt, and gobble any sort of food besmirched
By cloying pumpkin spice, I'm not one who welcomes autumn.
I just come to terms with it.  The damp, the smell of dying leaves,
The short and gravely gloomy days, do suit me.  They seem more
As I am than the hopefulness of spring or summer's fierce intensity.
To go outside when it is fall is to find all the world is me, but, honestly,
I'd rather not keep looking at myself.