autumn when so much dies or moves on toads burrow deeper after dark covers sedge and clover fallen hickory leaves ice-rimmed gold at sunrise I wake too chilly at my usual hour forsake my habit of rising listen to the nuthatch and house sparrow mourning dove croon give me another minute beside you in bed shivering yet shimmering
And just as an FYI – there’s a wonderful poem about the first heartbreak by Andrei Voznesensky that has the same title – “First Frost “or sometimes “First Ice”:
A girl is freezing in a telephone booth,
huddled in her flimsy coat,
her face stained by tears
and smeared with lipstick.
She breathes on her thin little fingers.
Fingers like ice. Glass beads in her ears.
She has to beat her way back alone
down the icy street.
First frost. A beginning of losses.
The first frost of telephone phrases.
It is the start of winter glittering on her cheek,
the first frost of having been hurt.
Andrei Voznesensky (translated by Stanley Kunitz)
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Oh, thank you for this!
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