October 2009

There are no swifts or swallows to be seen,
And gold appears where once the woods were green.
I’m wishing that the summer would not die.

The rush of burn and river in full spate,
The leaves that gather sodden by the gate;
I’m wishing that the summer would not die.

The closing evenings and the longer night,
The lower sun; all join to dim the light,
A sign of autumn and the passing year.

Now from the trees the fruit already falls,
And on the hill the rutting the stag now calls;
A sign of autumn and the passing year.

The equinoxial gales now rip and tear
The trees, to break their boughs and strip them bare,
More sign of autumn and the passing year.

So let us light the evening fire once more
Then early close the curtains and the door;
With signs of autumn and the passing year
I’m wishing that the summer would not die.



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