I sit and watch whilst the autumn leaves rustle,
Quick and sporadic, like some twitch of a muscle,
And the trees now are golden, long shed of their green,
And I wonder and muse, over what can’t be seen.
Life now is slowing, now the winter sets in,
The streams slow their babbling and the forests grow thin,
Creatures withdraw to the warmth of the earth,
Waiting and sleeping for spring’s next rebirth.
The skies will grow paler, less frequent in blue,
And whilst birds do not vanish, there are noticeably few.
Those that can migrate, most likely will,
To bask in the warmth and evade winter’s chill.
But what keeps us warm? Those who can’t roam,
It’s simple I suppose; that place we call home.

By my dear friend Gem

11-02-04