With Autumn in My Room

Autumn knocked on my window last night,
She knocked with fingers of cold rain-
As usual, she asked, very polite,
For me to let her in my room, again,
Then she’ll bring tobacco for my pipe, And expensive cigarettes from Rotterdam.

I looked around, I looked inside me:
The stove is cold,
The pipe is cold,
The hand is cold,
The mouth is cold.

God! ... How could I ever let her go?
If she leaves, who knows how long she’ll be?
What if this fall, to my shock,
Autumn will knock
For the last time at the door of my slum?
"Donnez-vous la peine d'entrer, Madame..."
And the woman with the eyes of smoke,
Entered, all humble and suspicious,
Like a prophecy the Sybil spoke-
False and vicious...
She came in...
And my room in just an instant
Warmed up like a bread oven,
With a spiral of smoke in the flue,
And with the kiss of Autumn, who tomorrow,
Will die-oh heavens!...
Sick with the flu...