Go softly

We welcome now Autumn, where faster winds blow,
And golden leaves fall against a lighter sun’s glow,
Where crisp golden bracken will break on the tread,
And spiders haunt people at night, in their bed.

Where days will grow shorter, and nights longer still,
And witches will dance, on your own windowsill,
With slow foggy mornings, and grass sodden dew,
And glimpses of sunlight are there but a few.

A burning of bonfires, a roasting of spuds,
Of letting off rockets,  (and cussing at ‘duds’ ),
Of playing at conkers, a childhood delight,
Of warming your feet, at the fireside at night.

This is our Autumn, a part of the year,
A slow preparation as Winter draws near,
An earthly rotation, of each season’s tale,
For the glory of nature, will man, – never fail !

Mick
( Copyright Michael Westwood 2015 )