Poem; Changing of the seasons.

I know it's autumn outside,
I can see, red berries on the Rowen tree.
And in the mornings the mist
Comes down, all around.
There is a touch of chill in the air,
Out there, and the trees have turned
From green to yellow and red,
Such colour, to feast my eyes on.
Harvest festival has come and gone,
Full of fruit and song, the fields
Have given up their yields.
The dark nights draw in now
Showing me how, winter will
Soon be here, I fear.
Flowers curl up and die,
I sigh, for the loss of their beauty.
Winter woollies and long johns'
Are brought out, and I know,
Without a doubt, that autumn's here.
And back where I was born, in
early dawn, the hop-picking will
Have started, with early morning
Fog, the machines will go along
The rows, once picked by hand,
It was grand. And all things change,
As seasons' come and go,
I shed a tear, for you are no longer here.

Augustine Nash.