The Dying Year Poem by Mary Champion

The old man's beard's in the hedgerow,
bedecking the balding branches
with drifting festoons of white.

The year is closing down,
the days are growing shorter.
The swallows are long gone -
following the sun across the deepening horizon.

Tireless squirrels stock up their secret hoard,
bats, bees, hedgehogs and dormice
take to their winter beds.

The leaves are falling faster,
their bright colours fading to brittle brown
and the berries are losing their blush.