The Downs are wreathed in mist, like smoke
From a dying fire.
The leaves are turning red and gold
Like flames upon a pyre.
Spring’s little lambs are grown to sheep
The swallows they have flown.
The blossoms that the summer brought
Their petals all have thrown.
Now autumn’s bounty fills the woods,
The hedgerows are ablaze
With hips and haws in colours bright
The senses to amaze.
The smoke from wood fires fills the air,
The scent of autumn true.
The autumn sun is cooler now
And mornings filled with dew.
The cobwebs shine with dewdrops bright.
The spider in her lair
Thinks nothing of the rainbow hue
That scatters in the air.
And children kick the fallen leaves
As laughingly they run
To gather conkers, shiny brown,
Gleaming in the sun.
We gather blackberries from the hedge
And apples from on high.
Up in the tree they ripen now
To turn into a pie.
But autumn sometimes has a kick
And the rain it lashes down.
The wind, it howls within the eaves
And through the trees doth moan.
This poem is in the poetry book I submitted to my publisher some time ago. I’ve heard today that it’s now gone for formatting. Shouldn’t be long before it’s published.