The season is turning again.
Swallows and house-martins are bound
for Africa. Leaves slowly die,
then flutter like feathers to
Another day is ending soon;
The sun is a deep orange glow
in the West. Flanked by willows,
the Cherwell flows dark and slow.
Woodsmoke hangs in the cold air
as far away I hear the dull roar
of by-pass traffic. Grey squirrels
collect nuts for their winter
A crescent moon subtends the sun
in a dusky sky. The birds’ chorus
fills the hedgerows. They seem to
that a hard winter will befall