There is a definite chilly tang to the air in the mornings and evenings bringing the turn of the season , and the end of the year even closer. I hope all those excited little baby Goldfinches tuck themselves up warmly at night ! I've probably mentioned before that I dislike all the plastic pumpkin-a-rama tat that shops insist on spilling off their shelves at this time ... but I do like a more gentle celebration of Autumn ; this poem is just wonderful and really deserves to be read aloud.
A Song of Autumn by Adam Lindsay Gordon
‘WHERE shall we go for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year,
When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad,
When the boughs are yellow and sere?
Where are the old ones that once we had,
And when are the new ones near?
What shall we do for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year?’
‘Child! can I tell where the garlands go?
Can I say where the lost leaves veer
On the brown-burnt banks, when the wild winds blow,
When they drift through the dead-wood drear?
Girl! when the garlands of next year glow,
You may gather again, my dear—
But I go where the last year’s lost leaves go
At the falling of the year.