Autumn Is Born Poem by Paul Reed

The chill wind reminds us all
That Summer is all but over
England is now in leaf fall
From Berwick on Tweed to Dover

The crimson sunsets flee
The strident times have gone
We reach the end of the spree
We so depended upon

The rose petals scattered and down
Our coats are buttoned or zipped
The thistle has donned his crown
Our hopes lie torn and ripped

The air rushes at the gate
It's gusts rattles and swirls
Summer's treasures too late
To save us from it's hurls

The sun-laden blossom and scent
Like stragglers leaving a dance
Their magic broken and spent
Their charms no longer entrance

Summers pages a dusty tome
Its bindings tired and care-worn
We reluctantly turn for home
For now the Autumn is born