Walking paths having trod before
Mother Earth as she turns from the grave
... looks away
for in leafy mounds, dying lay hidden
remains once kissed by Summers Sun.

In widows weeds of shriveled green
her poor face stained with Autumn tears
she walks the lanes of fallen life
as weeping trees bend low their heads.

Huddled within her threadbare coat
in worn-out shoes, she mourns the loss
and bids farewell to all she knew
as shades of sorrow haunt this land.

Her tears from heavy twilight skys
as elderly Summer passes away
in russets and browns, her curtains now drawing
as England sleeps, in the depth of each Fall.

At mornings approach, after chill of the night
brings carpets of mist, to contour the fields
with but watered Sun, to lift the gloom
daybreak rolls over, and drifts back to sleep.**

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