Damp leaves in cold park.
Autumn days are growing dark.
The wind whistled
In the churchyard.
Then the rain came again.
Damp leaves in cold park.
Autumn days are growing dark.
The wind whistled
In the churchyard.
Then the rain came again.
5 degrees.
Wet trees
Drip yesterday’s rain.
The autumn came
Bringing acorns
And precious rain
To woodland lawns.
Soon Autumn will come
And girl’s feet pass
Over leaves and grass.
But the churchyard clock
They will notice not.
Winter’s last blast
Sighs and dies
In a rhyme
Of passing springtime.
A simple rhyme
About the springtime
And hours
Amidst flowers
Where sweet love grows
And the rose goes
I must confess
That I obsess
On autumn leaves.
The trees
Are bare.
My hair
Has turned grey.
I could dye.
But each man’s day
Must end. my friend
In autumn, I recollect
How I would collect
The Autumn’s fall.
From the forest’s floor.
How many more
Shall I recall?
The leaf blower blows.
But can not keep pace
With the fall of leaves.
The wise man knows
That the race
Of dead leaves
Must end in dust
For them.
And men.
A video of me reading my poem “The Autumn Rain”, recorded on Sunday 4 October
On a grey
Autumn day,
I engage
With age.