The dew upon the clover falls <br />As night time ends and morning calls <br />The moss upon the ancient walls <br />Does clad the resting stones, <br />The leaves upon the languid trees <br />So still the dawn there is no breeze <br />The subtle shades of autumn's frieze <br />With gold and amber tones. <br /> <br />The cobwebs shine in thickets dense <br />And hedgerows of the hawthorn fence <br />Droplets hang on threads and whence <br />The silken nets do stay, <br />And as the sun does rise into <br />The misty skies of palest blue <br />The softest rays are shining through <br />This cold September day. <br /> <br />And as the mist begins to clear <br />The songbirds I begin to hear <br />Warm my heart with gentle cheer <br />Amid the morning air, <br />As I walk by the fields so brown <br />All ploughed and furrowed up and down <br />I head towards the smoky town <br />And dream of summers fair.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clover-5/
