In the crisp, cold mornings, darkness begins to linger.
The mists that cover the fields and seem to cloak the land.
Dewdrops on cobwebs, the writings of a ghostly finger.
These are the signs that the Autumn is now at hand.
The expectant trees hang heavy with ripening fruit.
The hedgerows are all aflame with haws and with hips.
Blackberries glisten like jewels and there’s none can dispute,
The colours of Autumn do all other seasons eclipse.
The leaves on the trees turning red, green and gold.
The fields are all stubble, the corn is now taken.
The nuts and the acorns snatched by squirrels so bold.
Soon all the leaves from the branches are shaken.
The smell of death and decay, they fill the air.
The leaves, wet and rotting, now feeding the earth.
All living things have their time, and must take a share.
Before moving on to make way for new birth.
Before winter comes, we gather in all the crops.
The firewood collected because we know before long.
Wind and frosts will we have, then snowy hilltops.
These are the sights, smells and sounds that make up Autumn’s song.