Autumn

October has arrived. The grove is shaking

The last reluctant leaves from naked boughs.

A breath of autumn cold-the road is freezing;

The millpond, glazed with ice, in a drowse,

Though the brook babbles; with his pack my neighbor

Makes for the barking, and his horse's feet

Will trample cruelly the winter wheat.

This is my time! What is the spring to me?

Thaw is a bore: mud running thick and stinking;

Spring makes me ill: my mind is never free

From dizzy dreams, my blood's in constant ferment.

Give me instead winters austerity,

The snows under the moon and what is gayer

Than to glide lightly in a sleigh with her

Whose fingers are like fire beneath the fur?

If I had super powers, saving the world comes to mind. If I had super powers, I would to choose to be able to talk in every language and to be able to resolve every problem in the world. I would try to