Silent, gentle rain of small, golden leaves;
Foggy days, sunny days, the white of first frost;
Walking on a carpet of wet autumn leaves…
Trees bathed in colour; the flowers they are lost.
Frothy waves, white waves, rushing to my feet;
Sunset hues on the sky above the sea;
I stumble and fall on pebbles beneath my feet
Forget the sting; can’t forget what I see.
Riding on the train to a new – newer station,
Fields and hills and the sea pass me by;
Prolonged goodbye at a modest little station –
Travelling back full of dreams and a sigh.
It’s Sunday morning and the church bells are ringing;
Sunday at home must almost be over;
The seagulls make a row; are the birds there singing?
The year – busy year – it almost is over.