Turn of the Seasons Summer, poor sweet sickly ch..

Translate 11 years ago

Turn of the Seasons Summer, poor sweet sickly child, has coughed her feeble last. Hosepipe bans and heat waves are things of the distant past. Autumn is a-coming, heralded by the trees, And the whisper of their nervous leaves, a-flutter in the breeze. They whisper of days that are cold yet bright, and on the ground a crackle, Fireworks and bonfires, a witch's throaty cackle, Toffee apples and hot spiced cider, and on the ground will lie A carpet of fiery coloured leaves, beneath the promise of the sky. Autumn, she's approaching, like a woman tall and fair, Pale skin and a wreath of dying flowers in her hair. One minute soft and teasing, the next she's baring teeth, To reveal the frozen face of Winter that's waiting just beneath.