Poor autumn limped <br />into the Hills this year, <br />without its usual notes <br />of oboe gold. <br /> <br />I guess the summer dry <br />proved just too much <br />for frizzled leaves <br />too hot and tired to rust. <br /> <br />A sad and sorry April, <br />till this week <br />when hazy smoke hung <br />silken ‘cross the sky <br /> <br />And ornamental vine <br />donned scarlet coat <br />and kookaburra <br />laughed upon the fence.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-old-autumn/
