Autumn Poem by Brian Joseph Dickenson

Once more the falling leaves of autumn
Herald in cruel winter’s blast.
Fading, dying, summer blossoms
Call to us of days long past.

Days of peace and lazy living;
Days that never seemed to end,
Now we dread the coming winter,
Not regarding it a friend.

Soon the earth will be as iron,
A wind that sears, and chills the bone
Urging on the weary ploughman,
As he wends on slowly home.

Borne upon a gusting north wind
Frozen flakes of rain do fall.
Ice is forming on the river.
Lonesome is the Curlews call.

There is a hush upon the landscape,
Footfall muffled by the snow,
Rabbits safe within their burrows,
Huddle neath the earth below.

Mother nature’s time of resting,
Gathered in are her skirts of green.
New life waiting, buried deeply,
One day to burst upon springs scene.