From the Round House on Sally’s Pond.

Low-trammeled cott’n [candy],
Paissage air,
Dockside canoe plus bienvenue
On Dawn’s pointe réfléchie,
Monks laud ringing nearby ;
Nearly Autumn kindles colours,
Sa rouges et jaunes some weeks from now,
Even more dit mon solipsiste,
Woodpecker tok and canard wad’le;
Whistling tik and wafting talk of why,
Petit chemin she’s no excuse,
Levitate on Sally’s bluest!

With apologies to Henry David Thoreau (d. 1862)