On a November Morning


 Mist hangs like a bride’s veil over the field,

I rub my eyes to rid them of sleep and clear my view.

Trees; some standing like statues, stiff, dark and bare,

Others, reluctant to let go their golden tresses

Enjoy their annual moment of fiery beauty!

They are looked at and admired as they pose

Like models displaying their autumn colours.

Human tracks zig-zag across the dew-soaked grass,

Like a child scribbling across a new page.

I look behind to see my own tracks criss-crossing the others

Adding confusion to the busy rush-hour tram lines!

My boots squelch under my feet.

Patterns from the soles of unknown boots

Create new pictures on the muddy canvas.

Once crisp and golden, leaves now lie sodden and blackened,

Ready to be taken down to their final resting place to nourish the earth,

So nature’s cycle may begin again.



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