Sweet crisp smells of Autumn
And daylight time is lost
The salty air fills up the senses
The ground is covered with frost.
The sky is like the falling leaves
Burnt bright and sunset waxes
The cricket’s final call has come
As Mother Nature relaxes.
She waits to pull her blanket up
Over those to sleep
For in her Winter haven lies
A measure of comfort to keep
A spark of life held for the birth
Of yet another season
A hope of life as yet to come
Thus gives us all a reason.
Better or worse, sickness or health
In pain or perhaps in pleasure
Some look not close enough to see
It is but ours to treasure.
Tom Wetherall resides in West Tisbury where he wordsmiths and multi-tasks as a professional property manager.