AUTUMN

As we move again into autumn I thought that readers might enjoy these verses which I penned after toiling to sweep up the fallen leaves last year.

I've always loved the silver birch, that graceful native tree

With shiny bark and tiny leaves a joy for all to see.

So when we built our house and home all those years ago

we planted some to grace the scene and watched them  slowly grow.

We dug them out, mere saplings from the nearby disused quarry.

When planting them I wish I'd heard a voice say "You'll be sorry.”

In spring the buds produce those tiny leaves of tender green

A sight for our sore eyes as we gaze upon the scene.

On summer days the sun casts dappled shadows on the drive

And as we take it in it feels good to be alive.

Autumn follows summer with it's hues of red and gold

and we are lost in wonder as we watch the scene unfold.

In exchange for all this pleasure we have to pay a price

when gusty winds begin to blow things aren’t quite so nice

That's when the multitude of leaves decide to flutter down,

transforming my usual sunny smile to a disagreeable frown.

That's also when the garden vac and rake come into play

and sweeping up the leaves tends to occupy my day.

If you are within earshot you may also hear me muttering

the occasional mild expletive as I clean them from the guttering.

The graceful silver birch is much acclaimed in verse and song

but when I said it was my favourite perhaps I got it wrong.

The silver birch is a dainty lady is how one poem goes

but listening to it now it just gets up my nose.

So now my original opinion I now am forced to ditch

she may be a dainty lady but she is still an untidy bitch!

 

                                            Bob Macdonald.