November falls mildly this year, and smiles <br />On afternoon strolls, beckoning boldly <br />Through grey clouding skies, as mile upon mile <br />Surrounds us, in stylish profusion, yet bringing <br />More mellowed finery cocooned under <br />Ageing, untidy greens. Fashioned now in <br />Patches of yellowy gorse, which blunders <br />Pushily through hedgerows of sun-weary <br />Browns, with praiseworthy splashes of brighter <br />Than buttercup flowers, they lighten dreary <br />Old blackberry bushes, now ready for striking <br />Their own winter pose. Buzzard flies low, scans <br />Lacy trees, ready naked for Autumn's planned <br />Passionless sleep. It seems lust for growing <br />Must be on hold. Miniscule diamonds float <br />Mistily down, quickly wetting the ground, <br />So, taking our cue, we leave without sound.<br /><br />Fay Slimm<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-quiet-autumn/
