There’s a knock upon the window .
Who is it .
Won’t you come inside ?
There’s no answer to the call .

I look outside the window and see all the flowers that have died and quiet reflections fall .

Razors shave bristles of thistles
in the morning sun and the spice of life is ever so slight .

Green leaves have turned to gold and autumns breeze cuts the wind cold as ice .
Gardens sleep among the shadows in the half light .

Reaching up to the grey sky deciduous trees stand bleak and bare .
Green moss on bark slivery white .

Lavender in the morning mist dressed by gossamers silky hair ,patched up spaces of sunlight .

Carpets of crispy brown leaves blowing on the ground for miles around .
The rustle of walks await .


I opened the door and ventured into the garden where I found my love at the secret gate .

Oh stay with me my love at least until its time to say goodbye and then to where we must go .

The time is brief but beautiful under a soft grey autumn sky where the stars begin to glow .

Back again inside the house and Jack Frost is asking to come in ,
but Autumn’s still saying no .

Outside winters shadows are starting to drift by like ghosts with the wind .
Now its time for us to go .


By Paul McCann