When our meals are not salads but hotpots and stew,

When the fog in the mornings is hard to see through,

When the TV'c seasonal shows are all new,

That's when we know it's Autumn.


When the leaves change their colour to browns and gold,

When the ground sprouts toadstools and moss and mould,

When our sniffles and coughs are not Covid but colds,

That's when we know it's Autumn.


When we change our lighter clothes for heavy knitwear,

When the darkened streets makes us all more aware,

when the scary faced pumpkins we begin to prepare,

That's when we know its Autumn.


When the nights become cosy with the glow of the fire,

When hot chocolate with a mass of mashmallows we desire,

When the sparkling firework lights we admire,

That's when we know it's Autumn.


When I sweep up the leaves that have fallen again,

When I struggle to move from arthritic pain,

When I'm sick of going our in the sodding rain,

That's when I know it's bloody Autumn. 


Tracy Windross
Oct 3 2021

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