Some feed back please?
The summer greens, once more as in times before,
From fields they fly, for over them a shroud of frost does lie.
And with painter’s brush tight in hand, to leafy groves over the land,
Jack doth ply a coat of autumn dyes.
Oh how they do, fill mine eye.
But with pleasant sights, comes also winter’s early nights.
For the days that once were long, weary they’ve now become,
And to their rest, till springs reset, do they fore go.
So doth as well go summer’s warmth, for to Jack’s frigid breath it yields.
The breeze too I feel, now bites with bitter delight.
But then, as the faint sunlight fades, the winds from the northern ways begin to sway.
And with them, great ships of clouds do sail,
Stocked full their bowels, I have no doubt, shall be with storms of rain and hail.
But tis not the hail that falls before the rain, nor shall it until late,
For before the rains the next day is done, the first falling of snow has come.
From some a rejoicing cheer they shout, for tis a sight they’ve yet to see,
Though there are those that wish for it soon to take its leave.
The next day dawns, and I wake,
And through my bedroom’s window pains, a new light there is to see.
Tis not bright, as in summer time it used to be,
But deem and sliver like it seems to me.
This I’m sure is the cause of the mist that whilst in my sleep fell.
But in this ghost like world that now exists, I see not the snows white veil.
Instead, there are only the dark silhouettes of several bare trees,
Which to their spindly and far high limbs, there clings a few small yellow leaves.
Soon though, at mid-day’s approach, the mist is in full retreat.
And in mine eye, a picture I do espy, of a dreary and grayish world left behind.
For gone are they, those brilliant and bright, autumn dyes that Jack once did ply.
Now again as mid- November begins, through the window’s pains I spy,
A dismal sight as autumn slowly dies.