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At End of Summer

Swift Summer faced with Autumn flees,

Now eager flocking to the skies,

Birds take flight as thoughts of Winter

Spur them on to warmer climes.
  Proud trees in quiet compliance bend

Their boughs 'gainst storms at Summer' end,

And changing, seasons take their toll,

As leaves now forfeit turn to gold.
Red, brown and gold are Autumn's colours,

Fields, charred dark with lying stubble,

Washed by early mist-masked sun,

Roll on, now still, their year's toil done.

  
  Cooled slopes and hills are soft with dew,

Cattle graze, stand and view,

In calm the mellow morning which,

Shows surely Summer's run.
    © Martin Whitthread. October 1977

Photograph is copyright Jochen Kallhardt and distributed by MediaMaestro a trademark of Software Dynamics GmbH