Autumn’s closing in now,
leaves have dressed the ground.
Laying in heaped profusion,
so still, making no sound.
Reds and rusts are mingling,
beneath each skeletal tree.
Tumbling when the breezes blow,
off on their reckless spree.
Misty are the mornings,
bad weather’s moving in.
Frost will appear on branches,
like powdered kaolin.
October, then November,
Summer is no longer here,
Chilly days are approaching,
the last leaves disappear.
Autumn’s closing in now,
with blustery winds so cold.
But, whatever Winter brings,
Spring will again unfold.
© Ernestine Northover
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An unusual title Ernestine yet the poem is truly magical. A wonderful autumnal scene. Love, Andy xx