Autumn 1996 after a poor summer.
Autumn
The summer's gone, it's over,
And the year is running down.
The leaves have russet tinges
As Autumn lays claim to its crown.
From trees the leaves are stolen
But no-one sees the thieves
And once again the book of nature
Another chapter weaves.
Around the old farmhouse
On wires the swallows sit
And having fulfilled their duty
Get notices to quit.
Clouds now grey and hurried
Weep often in their turn,
And we pause to think and remember
Of summers past less stern.
Soon old winter will beckon,
Cruel, cold and perverse
And in the months that follow
Many will hasten the hearse.
~~~
British Bill © 1996
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