A sharp nip in the air I feel ...
Is this Indian Summer real?
Leaves, multi-coloured, spin and fall
Bold swooping birds their comrades call.
Untenanted, the swallows’ nests
As they head south like all the rest …
Road sweepers, wrapped up warm, survey
Their mammoth task – it’s clean-up day!
I love this golden time of year:
Pert mushrooms burgeon everywhere
Weird, mystic, toxic and benign;
For artists - such a precious time …
Crisp, Autumn chill, with tugging gusts
As Summer’s green turns into rust;
Deep puddles shimmer in moon glow
With Nature’s pace reduced to slow…
(c) Poet in the Woods 2024
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