Autumn morning
Old man hands picking apples
A woman hangs out laundry in the sun
I feel the wind touching the leaves
The bird flies across the field
Memories are born in a person
The story of a long road

winter fed us with blood-red berries and ice clouds,
our visible breath soon colder than our lips.
i did not want to see what you had seen,
could not grow out of those sad, sad eyes.
we fell into the calm wave of circumstance
and twilight hurried from us into the dark.
hurried away like the last drop of sunlight
purples the earth, dancing on the edge of the world.
do we wait, stone-heavy, for the last tendrils
of day to melt like ice?
the fearful cold breathes like a fog,
gathers its stars of voice and hill,
gathers memories and distant dreams,
lets us forget.
are you the ghost that lies on the hill
calling to me?
are you that ghost,
whose irons soften like cloud,
whose frozen leaf trembles on the branch
waiting to fall to the whispering land?
your eyes are from the past and yet
they follow like a cold wind blasts.
your eyes, everywhere your sad eyes,
biting like a frost.

old man scatters dry leaves
chasing a 'dame'
spying    i become a child

The old lady caught up to me
fell asleep forgotten and woke up free
in the magpie madness
cobblestone cradle race

god called me today
with a mouthful of autumn leaves
spider fingers nesting at my navel
I hear her heartstrings
plucking out a buried song
in the last longing lookback
of seasonal surrender

In the hush of cool autumnal dusks,  
the sleepy world slows down,  
and crisp golden leaves  
scatter over the ground.  
The sky now dons
a cloak of twilight grey,  
as the nipping breeze begins to play.  

The streetlamps flicker, their glow a guide,  
as nightfall blankets the countryside,
and families gather at home  
by the warm fireside,  
while the scent of baked apples
with cinnamon flows,  
and a hearty stew simmers on the stove.  

After a warming dinner, laughter is shared,  
and in the heart of the home,  
hot cocoa is prepared  
while the children play games,
building forts from cushions
their giggles ring clear,  
filling the room with joy and cheer.

As the hour grows late, tiredness spreads,  
and soft heavy eyelids
remind them it's time for bed.  
The embers crackle softly,
as the evening grows quiet,
and worn out children yawn and sigh
as November evenings slowly drift by.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Soft light of
Autumn day ,
in sun-shower and memory
and dreaming away .
☆
While humming birds now
in her outstretched hands ,
tell of strange customs
in far away lands .
☆
Where surrounded by every
beast , bird and faun ,
she sings sacred songs
and a new world is born .

Leaves will still fall at autumn,
And giving thanks around a table,
Will proceed as normal.
Merry tidings will still pass.

And birthdays will come,
As we all grow a little older.

Life will proceed;
I will keep on going,
And I will try not to cry this year
When the leaves begin falling.

I sit perched
Not perched but perfectly placed
By the door in english classroom
In the english hallway
Four doors down from the end

The air here is warm
Though this morning it must have been below
Below the freezing point for water
And my engine

And from my perfectly placed seat
I can see
The yellow leaves
Warm against the approaching winters wind

Though it is only September

The classroom- full of life
But only in the sense that
A dozen kids sit taking a quiz
Worth nothing but a number in a book

The life makes it warm
Or is it the fans above
Man made just not by man
No, not man but a fan and a shadow of man

When the yellow leaves echo the cold
When the door closes
And the light
Fades with the warmth