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Autumn Equinox

 Autumnal Feast

A chattering bird sings in the wild thistle bed,

seeking seeds in each white, downy head.

Strong beaked and bright eyed, this little bird,

that across the red fuschias I've often heard,

enjoys a feast, as it pulls and heaves,

at the spiky plants with razor sharp leaves.

Harvesting the bounty of autumnal earth,

filling its belly, swelling its girth,

laying down stores for winter's dearth.

 

Rose Hips

Skeleton twigs on which rose hips of the brightest reds

hang as jewel drops amongst spider’s threads.

Skeleton twigs standing over crushed berries scattered on the sodden ground.

Skeleton twigs rising above straggly nettles bringing remembrance of summer’s blossom,

of crimson pink petals.

Skeleton twigs celebrating summer’s past and winter’s present in the seasons round.

 

 

Autumn

Hey-up! And speed the plough

We’ll harvest now

The sun is bright, the air is calm

And we can bring the harvest home.

There’s grain enough for bread and beer,

There’s fruit enough, to eat, for wine, to cheer

Our long dark Winter night,

When sun and swallow have gone a’ flight.

Hey-up! There’s time to play

When old stone barns are full of hay.

We’ll work by light of harvest moon

And sing our ‘Summers bounty’ tune.

 

Autumnal fall

When the light is held in a plain

Cloudless sky of grey/blue fog,

The trees in dark contrast

Give up their green mane

And stand solid.

For they will provide the log,

Which will provide the light,

Till Winters passed.

 

Grey, Autumnal mist

Softens the hues of the fallen leaves.

They quickly release

Their entertaining colours.

And return to their brown earthly weaves

That will nourish next Summer’s flowers.

  

Earth awakens

Autumnal peach, shades to bleached blue,

With a band of butter yellow, passing through.

 

Dawn, with white mist coursing the river

And silent crows crowd the steeple tower.

 

Melodious blue tit awakens the robin,

Then crow croaks a return to quicken the twittering.

 

Lo! The sun lights the weather cock,

Bright on the steeple,

And the start of the day

Is greeted by a chorus of trills,

While golden rays repaint the hills

And the energy of the increasing sun

Darkens the blue, warms the towers stone,

Confirming the truth that night dreams are done.

Page last updated: 29th Nov 2017