Gold, orange, red on the horizon arrayed

And with each passing breeze they begin their cascade

Making a carpet of autumn hues

Crunching underneath our passing shoes

The beauty of nature wondrously displayed

As children await the raking,

So in the piled leaves they can wade


The Turning Time

The lavender is no longer in bloom

And the buddleia’s flowers are dry and gray

The trees are rich in orange and red

But brown is starting to have its way

It is that turning time of year

When chill nights follow shorter days

The neighbours ghosts and witches hang

From their garden gateways

And await the coming of the hoards

Wanting trick-or-treat to play


What’s in a Name?

AlainAudet @ Pixabay

British Summertime came in the other day

It snowed and sleeted anyway

For most summer is filled with warm rays

But that seems optional in the UK

Today I watch the grey clouds mass

Dropping sheets of cold rain as they pass

So summertime I guess is here

The wet and chilly time of year



Snowdrop, Flowers, Meadow, Plant, Bloom

Spring has begun its sneaking through

Showing hope of somethings new

Dawn chorus moments amid the dew

And snowdrops are emerging too

I know it is but February

And with hopes of spring we must be wary

But maybe it can be an allusion

Of hope amid the daily news’ intrusions