Untethered, yet bound,
The black panthers growled,
Without making a sound,
The northern tempests howled.

Fallen plumage, biting flies,
Naked trees against the breeze,
‘Twas in the time when summer dies,
And winter’s waltz is freed.

On the stroke of midnight past,
Housed in the eye of the wind,
The congregation stood aghast,
Simplicity had sinned.

The boughs bent and fell on stony
Ground, lay upon wet ground;
And, the penitents cried a lonely
Sound, a sad and dreary sound.

On a rocky shore and beyond,
Gray clouds, tattered and swift,
Bid the mourners to cast their wand,
Lest the phenomenon be set adrift.

The southern tempests laughed,
Dust devils touched the ground,
The panthers stood aghast,
Tethered, and unbound.