Climatical Decay

There’s a slight nip felt in the air, And a feeling that one’s aware Of a change now, in the seasons, For there’s certainly many reasons. There’s a diffusion of leaves around, Twigs too, tumbling to the ground, As the winds swirl, dance and tease, Among the branches of the trees. There’s a sharpness lingering about, And now no one can be in doubt, That Mr Frost is on his way, With his sparkling white display. There’s a sense of climatical decay, Seen on boughs that one can survey, Autumn’s entering upon our scene, Giving contrast to all that's green. There’s a golden time ahead, Ranging from yellow and orange to red, And the glowing warm russet shades, Weave such rich and subtle brocades. There’s a crispness beneath the feet, And so summer makes its sad retreat, Handing its plush vast arena, over to The next incumbent, with a task to do. © Ernestine Northover