Peevish Poets

When planets glow before Aurora’s rise,
and scattered stars migrate 'cross moonless skies.
I walk the leafy paths that take me home;
I have no inclination now to roam.

I pass the trembling trees, whose leaves have bled,
and share their sorrow over tears they’ve shed.
The dawn is breaking, far off, in the east,
and sounds of sighing ghosts have long since ceased.

Beneath the clouds, upon the heathered vales,
the dew drops wet the wings of nightingales,
seeking solace ‘midst the brightening bowers,
shelter from cruel autumn’s senseless showers.

And I walk on, down old familiar lanes;
I hurry, to avoid the coming rains.
I mutter like a madman, (that’s my age.)
And peevish poets often rant and rage.