When last the Autumn blanket crept
to seal the bed where summer slept,
its oak leaf fingers intertwined
and locked 'til springtime sets them free.
So from the winter's tempests flee
from waning days and clinging time
and loose its grip in solstice stare
- last glimmers of the sunset's glare.
The geese fly swiftly - cry in rhyme
as cold invades the season's tide
within the ebb where instinct rides
on wings of life to warmer climes.
Copyright © craig cornish | Year Posted 2022
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