Autumn

Autumn

Sometimes a poem just comes to me unbidden as I'm going about my day,  or as in this instance, as I'm driving along the country lanes.

Autumn
And the time of slow, careful driving
Avoiding the dull-witted, frenzied wild panic
Of flash-gaudy pheasants and their ghost-pale wives.

Autumn
And the time of gathering and bagging
The bright drift of leaves from gilt-blazing trees
A gift to balance the faint waning sun.

Autumn
And the time of hearty homemade soups
Bursting with flavours grown over the summer
Harvested, held ready for thick crusty bread.

Autumn
And the time of closely drawn curtains
Shutting out the night-dark and draughty cold winds
Hunkering down in the log-fire warmth inside.


© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved


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