At the time as the leaves turned colour
a hushed  slither of an acquaintance
brushed by as Autumn rising.
Healing beneath his tongue
He tasted Marchpane again .
Dazed by the impending changes,
temporarily taking stock.
At the time as the wind stood still
he found his trusted keys
for his Autumnal hut
and opening its door
he felt a rush for those
composted stored Tubers and rare cuttings
as they awaited his thoughts
an outpouring
his selection an inspired command.......