Mid - November in the north
and leaves, dying, drying,
yellowing slowly still cling
to branches they have clothed.
Flowers of garden, moor and hedgerow
enjoy a second blooming well after
their vibrant shades ought to fade.
New buds swell when trees should rest
through long, cold days.
The seasons are confused and our
ill - used mother is in trouble.
Fall cannot be summers double,
dark doppelganger bringing false spring
to spawn new life. In desperate strife
Earth wrestles against human greed.

MORE NATURE / ENVIRONMENT POEMS
Peccavimus
Young River
Bitter Fruit