The Chuckery Wall Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

As the church spire looks over
The town from the hill,
The October hues
Of the autumn lie still,
And the shadows are wearing
A silvery shawl,
As the wild roses bloom
By the Chuckery wall.

The rosehips have shrivelled
The blackberries dry,
While scattered on pathways
The dewy leaves lie,
Like showers of gold
They do silently fall,
As the wild roses shine
By the Chuckery wall.

Now the memories of summer
Are slipping away,
And the once laden branches
Grow sparser each day,
They soon will be bare
And the winter shall call,
When the wild roses fade
By the Chuckery wall.