The low sun gets rough with the planet,
Turning one hill's creamy snow into
A covering of salt, another's bed of fallen
Leaves to gravel.  Trees are deeply
Furrowed.  This old house's tattered
Awnings look more like confetti now,
But that fierce orb still cares for
Doggy, who lies peacefully asleep
Upon a glowing patch of carpet
Laid out just for it.