This week’s poem, called Autumn, is by John Meehan.
As the first leaf falls slowly silently to the ground, autumn approaches and Mother Nature will soon her art display as she paints the trees and hedgerows with colours of red brown, green and yellow interspersed across the forest and fields.
The swallow and lark have to their winter home begun to fly.
Morning mist lingers long after the sun has risen high up in the sky.
Days grow shorter and nights become so much longer and colder.
Even the constellations of the stars in the night sky change their path across the universe.
Each day autumn slowly makes its way across the land with wind and rain more frequent than the sun.
As mother nature’s work of art fades the trees bare their branches like withered fingers reaching to the grey sky soon yield their last leaf, before winter takes its icy grip and the autumn beauty fades away, for in a moment the season is gone.
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