Autumn:
The light quickly fades
And a veil of fog enshronds the street lamps.
Inside:
The hour dawns green.
Thime for the parfait gla** and ornate spoon.
Carefully:
With care approaching reverence,
The sugar cubes beneath the water drip.
Then:
The first sip:
'Ah, that's on the proverbial mark
For the right proper level of tart!'
Icy opaline green-pale
As the fog by gray.
Overcast and drizzle, a bone-chilling day.
Come, my Muse!
Let us retreat to the warm green mansions of La Fée Verte.