The Chuckery Wall

As the church spire looks over The town from the hill, The October hues Of the autumn lie still, And the shadows are wearing A silvery shawl, As the wild roses bloom By the Chuckery wall. The rosehips have shrivelled The blackberries dry, While scattered on pathways The dewy leaves lie, Like showers of gold They do silently fall, As the wild roses shine By the Chuckery wall. Now the memories of summer Are slipping away, And the once laden branches Grow sparser each day, They soon will be bare And the winter shall call, When the wild roses fade By the Chuckery wall.