The buildings from across the square Are echoed in the window’s panes. They glisten in a cordial way And, were I able, I’d consider Slipping through this looking glass To window shop and maybe stay.
I am these annuals drying in the window box
And the leaves blushing on wall climbing vines
Or yellow-paled in the mirrored trees,
For I too tire, well-seasoned in my own falling.
With reflecting branches just barely,
And red decreasing leaves framing
Those double panes home warming fairly,
Sentry window is falling proclaiming.