Sun wanly shines, warmth pretend,
cooler air signals summers end,
this dying season I slowly befriend.
Leaves turn tan, downward fall,
swallows follow warm wind call,
wasps get spiteful: stings for all.
A stand of trees curate a church
crows caw call from lofty perch,
I cycled on a blackberry search.
On Sunday mornings, quiet lanes,
my fingers show some sticky stains,
box by box filled with foraged gains.
Crab apples mashed, conkers mangled,
bramble barb with jumpers tangled,
woollen haloes evolve after wrangles.
Autumn arrives, summer goodbye,
much greyer now that once-blue sky:
find scarves and gloves, kites to fly.