An Afternoon Poem for the Coming Autumn on a Rainswept Windy Friday the 13th

We thought you might like this poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese (1856-1935)  anthologized in Library of America’s American Poetry of the 20th Century Vol. 1. It seemed apt on this wild Friday afternoon on the cusp of autumn:

Wind

Now has the wind a sound
Made out of rain;
A misty, broken secretness,
That drenches road and pane.
It drips and drips; a hush
Falls on the town;
Like golden clods an old tree shakes
Its apples down.