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)