Autumn Tune - Carol Frost There, now you know losses no one can give you back; and that harvests— sugar of raw pulp—leave a thirsty mouth. Fruit core and pips, love, envy, unspoken regret cruelly resurrect and you know your limits. What will you do? Remember the light and vulgar tune someone dead to you countless years played one autumn. In slanting light didn't you sway a little?