The river waters
Take their time
Slowly meandering
Through fragrant
meadows
Copse and wood
Rural idylls all
Where time stands
still.
Swans use a quiet ait
As an islet sanctuary
But the quiet waters
Though slow of purpose
Have no time to dwell
And are reluctantly
Bound for the sea
Umbrella-shaped flower heads
Borne upon their stems
With fragrant open
umbel
Sway in the gentle
breeze
Of the kitchen garden
Stirring parsley,
dill, and fennel
In the farmyard
Where the chickens
scratch
A Chanticleer cock
keeps an eye
On his clucking batch
But if some
unfortunate
Mishap should befall
Leaving the farmyard
With no cock at all
Then nature will take
a hand
To correct the mishap
Turning one of the
scratchy hens
Into a chap
The seasons come and go
Almost monotonous I
know
One after another, as
planned
Like the sweep of a
clock hand
Each season reminding
us all
That from winter to
the fall
Is yet another year
slipped by
A step closer to when
we die
A depressing thought I
know
But let the seasons
come and go
For I think it would
be a crime
If there was to be no
autumn time
The Suffolk Punch
Heavy draught horse
Beautiful Chestnut
beast
Solid and dependable
With energetic gait
Known as “good doers”
The Suffolk Punch
Work horse of the land
All was calm, in the morning
After the autumn storm
Had stripped bare the
trees
And swept the fallen
harvest
To havens sheltered
from the gale
In the calm clear
night
The frost crisped the
land
Holding all in
suspended animation
Everything where it
fell
As the sun
strengthened
To melt away the frost
Leaves spill from the
bottom of hedgerows
Like golden coins from
treasure chests
In a vast well filled
vault
Soon enough this
fallen bounty
Would again be
scattered
Across the landscape
On the next autumnal
weather front
