A Poem Beginning with a Line by Plath

The best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born.

The odd uneven time.

An uneven heart begets an uneven mind

The change the world is seeing  

Has indications of a —

A warped, doomed beginning

Inklings of a —

The spiders watch us all in wonder

And leaves tumble into fire

And all that’s left is a yellow ember under

October