The days are shorter, sharper is the air

The days are shorter, sharper is the air

and when, within the dog rose hipped and barbed,
the robin, winter king, in russet garbed,
clicks his tongue to summon to his side
bright-painted finch wings, redstart-bobbing tails,
we know that autumn’s come, it rides the tide,
with flame-red sails unfurled to catch the gales.