As l sit here typing this note, the cold weather outside tells me it is going to snow. I missed the last snow here in england as l was in Portugal. But snow starts the winter season and November marks the start too.
Whilst Novemeber may be turning cold,
The sky gets darker and colder as Autumn moves on.
Sweet smell of chestnut and holly while the leaves fall down,
Dancing in circles, swiftly, slowly colouring the waiting ground.
Those who hibernate now race to gather ready for their sleep,
And head back for shelter that will be dry warm and deep.
Migration has finished for most while the winter birds arrive,
Cold snap frost returns as the Summer sweetness did not survive.
Yet there is still colour in the late blossoming flowers,
Shine in brilliant gold, red and blue even in the cold rain showers.
And the conkers to play with and sweet chestnuts cook on the fire,
The last of summer fruits stored away in home and country shire.
The bright display of fireworks make a welcome break,
Banging, popping, a rainbow of colours and sparklers to shake.
With hot tomato soup, sausages, burgers a feisty warm fare,
A drop to drink and cries of joy in which we now share.
Then back to the autumnal blandness of cold dark grey,
Slumbering dark days as tired eyes wish it would go away.
As Jack Frost arrives to cover white the morning glory,
To announce that Winter is coming, waiting to tell her story.
Taking with her the last of Summers distant memories.
Colin Skilton
Poetry by Colin Skilton
Read 667 times
Written on 2008-11-22 at 23:35
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Whilst Novemeber may be turning cold,
November
And so we return to ember after the rise of OctoberonThe sky gets darker and colder as Autumn moves on.
Sweet smell of chestnut and holly while the leaves fall down,
Dancing in circles, swiftly, slowly colouring the waiting ground.
Those who hibernate now race to gather ready for their sleep,
And head back for shelter that will be dry warm and deep.
Migration has finished for most while the winter birds arrive,
Cold snap frost returns as the Summer sweetness did not survive.
Yet there is still colour in the late blossoming flowers,
Shine in brilliant gold, red and blue even in the cold rain showers.
And the conkers to play with and sweet chestnuts cook on the fire,
The last of summer fruits stored away in home and country shire.
The bright display of fireworks make a welcome break,
Banging, popping, a rainbow of colours and sparklers to shake.
With hot tomato soup, sausages, burgers a feisty warm fare,
A drop to drink and cries of joy in which we now share.
Then back to the autumnal blandness of cold dark grey,
Slumbering dark days as tired eyes wish it would go away.
As Jack Frost arrives to cover white the morning glory,
To announce that Winter is coming, waiting to tell her story.
Taking with her the last of Summers distant memories.
Colin Skilton
Poetry by Colin Skilton
Read 667 times
Written on 2008-11-22 at 23:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
