As summer heat begins to wane,
On the air is a distant call,
That the seasons' wheel turns again,
And autumn's coming for us all.
Mist haunts crisp mornings and damp nights,
Gold leaves are beginning to fall,
Time for bonfires and candle-lights,
As autumn's coming for us all.
Short days turn us all into ghosts,
The woman in the faded shawl,
The thin man between the lamp posts,
When autumn's coming for us all.
Faint voices whisper on the breeze,
Shadows creeping across a wall,
Pale shapes flit among the dead trees,
For autumn's coming for us all.
Painting - Autumn Morning by John Atkinson Grimshaw
Verse by Jim Moon
