AUTUMN I met a bad woman who had lost her way, seeking the warmth of a little mouse, forsaken leaves falling on her head (the birch yellow, the oak ruddy,) and she went weeping, her withered nuts quick with worms. The green woodpecker struck his neb into her hollow leg and woodlice were burrowing her crumbling bones: so think her shadow! Her body black: mushrooms buttoning her rotting womb! But why am I downcast because of her? I look in again by the larder door, I throw another log onto the fire and wait in fear for my man to come.