David Wood (07 April 1950 / London)
Autumn ushers in the golden blaze of leaf
When every tree delightfully looks their best,
And long shadows point with fingers brief
With the sun slung on a low horizon blest.
The pale days, now shorter as of late,
Mark the end of summer and the eve of winters fall.
Blackberries sprinkled in the hedge soon to make
A feast of a pie at the end of summer ball.
Night's cape draws its veil as we sit in the garden
Sipping cool drinks as we did in high summer.
Beginning to feel the chill wind begin to harden
Our sleeveless arms. This autumn in its slumber.
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