Alas, it has been a season of yawns and weary sighs,
Each and every morning met with dreary eyes;
The sluggish shuffles; the weight of the world upon;
Several moons have waned since hope has shone.
Far too many dawns have passed, it must be confessed,
Which have been welcomed without an inkling of zest.
All that remains is a grim incessant strain
As you see all your vigour trickle down life's drain.
It is now you have a choice: shed a tear and cry
Whilst watching your spirits languidly die,
Or take the deepest of breaths and roll up your sleeves
And begin sweeping away these gaunt autumn leaves...
Choose the latter, I implore, for it is the one that revives,
And remember how ever slow she may be, Spring always arrives!
Jack Growden's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Autumn Leaves by Jack Growden )
- Don't ever in public, Dr PJ Raj Kamal
- Somewhere in time, Mark Heathcote
- The wind brings warning, xeno drone
- My nature is to write, gajanan mishra
- Two Rings, Shannon Paterson
- Dreams Incarnate, Dylan Engelbrecht
- The Rose, Neela Nath
- No one to question, hasmukh amathalal
- She does, hasmukh amathalal
- Multi-dimensional; heavens?, Mark Heathcote
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
- Heather Burns
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)