Cold Birds.

Cold birds beruffled by the wind Trot an uncomfortable line Through wide, rimed grass; Blown through on bright japanned feet, They await the rain. Across the lawn, foxfur Women huddle, scurry and bundle The chamois roots of their wraps, Drooping, scuttled by the squall, Apalled at so sudden a gust, in Puckish spirals, taking whorls of skirt & linen, Making their stockings yellow, their faces Red.