In that part of the youthful year wherein The Sun his locks beneath Aquarius tempers, And now the nights draw near to half the day, What time the hoar-frost copies on the ground The outward semblance of her sister white, But little lasts the temper of her pen, The husbandman, whose forage faileth him, Rises, and looks, and seeth the champaign All gleaming white, whereat he beats his flank, Returns in doors, and up and down laments, Like a poor wretch, who knows not what to do; Then he returns and hope revives again, Seeing the world has changed its countenance In little time, and takes his shepherd’s crook, And forth the little lambs to pasture drives.
And so the opening to the section about thieves! It is a pretty start but quickly delves into the punishment for stealing which is to be pursued by serpents and morphing into and out of their form with them! Alas, our friend The Pumpkin has again entered into a dismal place. He was busted for grand theft and now has to contend with reptiles and heat. Heat, at least. Creamy unforgettable pumpkin and a kiss of spices combine with a buttery background and a flash of golden musk. Gourmandy and very special, this is the time of year for it.