THE SPIRIT OF AUTUMN
I am the burnished leaves of gold
The early morning mist, your breath of cold
The tiny toadstools in the grass
The crunch of leaf-laiden, woodland paths
The breeze that carries, the leaves away
And causes the branches, to rock and sway
The sleep so deep, of hibernation
As animals rest, in cosy havens
The shine on conkers, the spiral of pine cones
The brown shades and hues, and yellow tones
The flick so quick, of the squirrels' tails
The pumpkin harvest, the thinning of the veil
The magic and mystery, of the stag
The buried treasure, the squirrels' swag
The flicker of, your warming fire's flame
Call upon me, by my name
The Spirit Of Autumn, I have returned
As the wheel of nature, once more turns.
Joanne Kavanagh c 2022
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