A dedication to the anthology on my shelf-

Frost-bitten teeth and winter is cumming(s).

Fall shakes(a)spear(e), but nothing can be Donne.

And Swift, Brad st. was covered by white, oh marvel(l).

The wall cott the snow, tracks along the previously pristine p(l)ath.

The rain will fall, and the fall will stall in the reed(s). 

Oh Lord, alfalfa fields are white.