Change is all around, in the town, city and land,
Shall I too bury my head like the ostrich in the sand?
Or shall I rise from the ashes
like the phoenix fresh and new?
Should I stay? Should I go?
I really, really just don’t know.
The dark cloak of winter will soon be here,
Sweet Autumn, your leaves are like lovers’ tears,
Dropping, decaying then disappearing away,
Fertilising the earth for yet another day.
Autumn, a time for gathering and storing to keep,
As the hedgehog roles up for his winter’s sleep,
We mortals weaken with creaky old bones,
Some retiring to nursing homes.
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Comments about this poem (Autumn by mai venn )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Michael P. McParland
- Christina Georgina Rossetti
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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