Now is the golden browning of the year,
early dusky evenings, and the quiet.
A time of listless leaves and branches,
a settling, and a dignity of dying.
Smells of damp and rolling mist,
now haunt the hedges and the willows
of the river valley field.
The evening bells sound dampened in
the thick of Autumn air.
The year is closing down
to sleep the winter sleep through frost and chill.
Silent snow will follow in its time
sealing the land in white and crispy cold,
freezing in death what life will need to live
When all is dark in winter, thoughts
of bluebells ringing in the dell
keep hope alive that spring will peal anew
Martin Swords
June 2002
Martin Swords
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumnal-3/
