The Early Morning Mist And Dew Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE

The early morning mist and dew
The faintest sunlight shining through,
The branches of the languid trees
That slowly forms this autumn frieze,
With subtle shades as leaves now turn
And fiery glows of amber burn,
That warms the chill of breaking dawn
Upon this late October morn.

The silver birch in primrose stands
Its trunk is flecked and striped with bands,
While bracken frames this stony course
That winds its way through thorny gorse,
A carpet made of leaves and twigs
While berries ripe on holly sprigs,
Glow scarlet in the shade of night
And almost hidden from my sight.

The air is still so hushed the sound
As leaves are falling to the ground,
Like raindrops from a passing shower
They gather there beneath the bower,
A squirrel roams the woodland floor
While searching for some food to store,
Amongst the span of empty husk
He seldom moves from dawn till dusk.

When evening falls and shadows rest
And sunlight sinks within the west,
Then soon descends the cold of night
Beneath the stars that shine so bright,
A frost does form now winter nears
That glistens like the fallen tears,
Of autumn for its end is nigh
As if to say its last goodbye.

30/07/08