The blackberries are bitter
The leaves brown like forgotten books
And listlessly fall down, fall down
To clog the brooks.
Shining chestnuts turn lacklustre;
Garden glories start to fade.
Summer's laughing troops of scarlet
Slope off parade.
Victimise the weak and old.
Mud colonises every pathway,
And the nights are cold.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Wayne Carvosso would be
pleased to hear from you.