Under Dingles Hill
Russet browns and crackling
yellow browns
Traipse idly down from leafy
spill;
For by summers gate
Glorious Autumn awaits
To plough once again, here,
Under Dingles hill.
A pleasant warming breeze
gently caresses the trees
And strokes through the baize
Green frill;
The brooding Sparrowhawk
Flights her rush -
To seize upon her hapless
kill!
Ancient dappled glades offer
Restful, cooling shades
And welcome respite from
Above until:
A waning sun begins its
Seasonal run...
Leaving us all firmly gripped
In Winters chill.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2014
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