seasons in late year yet
Leaves fall and fret and lay
In morning sun weak and wet
Their smell a musty late decay
The next season nature put away
Colour drained from skies that bled
As if there is a higher price to pay
Not the trees so strong in May
Where new life and old just met
Their smell a musty late decay
Hard soil later soggy clay
Skinny branches turning fat
As if there is a higher price to pay
Stillness, softness, whitish spray
Fondly, cushioned virgin beds
Their smell a musty late decay
Berries, red, nuts on a tray
Creatures and birds dying, dead
As if there is a higher price to pay
Their smell a musty late decay
