Ah, Fall, encroaching, poses for to nip
The ears, as would a terrier some heel,
Should he, attack-mode, growl and curl his lip
As he'd, aft posturing, express his zeal.
Old Wintrer sneezes, and we're all aghast,
For songbirds, catching cold, nigh shut their mouth,
And move, as peregrines do hunt, quite fast,
To gentler regions, lying further south.
But, Winter, most of us are holding ground:
Your bark does seem to trump your pending bite,
Hence we, a little cautious, shan't be found,
As southbound songbirds, taking early flight.
Ah, Winter, you encroach, but we shan't run,
For, ere too long, here comes the vernal sun!