As Mist Does Roll Across The Field Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

As mist does roll across the field
And drapes the lowly chestnut tree
With silken gown while winter's chill
Now grips the frozen air,
Beneath the fallen amber leaves
Lay scattered where the wind did toss
And rest upon the dampened grass
For now the branches bare.

But stained with coat of mossy green
And lichen clinging to its trunk
So broad and yet so frail to see
Bereft of life does stand,
No more the blackbird finds a perch
Or sings within its leafy boughs
Forlornly now it waits for spring
When colour fills the land.

Now as the evening does descend
Upon the lowly chestnut tree
A silhouette against the sky
As nature now does sleep,
A breathless hush as sorrow mourns
The passing of the summer gone
In stillness as the day goes by
While clouds now gently weep.