Clover Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

The dew upon the clover falls
As night time ends and morning calls
The moss upon the ancient walls
Does clad the resting stones,
The leaves upon the languid trees
So still the dawn there is no breeze
The subtle shades of autumn's frieze
With gold and amber tones.

The cobwebs shine in thickets dense
And hedgerows of the hawthorn fence
Droplets hang on threads and whence
The silken nets do stay,
And as the sun does rise into
The misty skies of palest blue
The softest rays are shining through
This cold September day.

And as the mist begins to clear
The songbirds I begin to hear
Warm my heart with gentle cheer
Amid the morning air,
As I walk by the fields so brown
All ploughed and furrowed up and down
I head towards the smoky town
And dream of summers fair.