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.

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