Let fall those gold-lipped
leaves, of autumn
carried down on
waning warmth,
through silver mists
and silk-grey sky.
Fall down upon all rose hip'd
hedges, glistened red
and dew damp kissed.
Let fall those leaves
to whispered breath
when summer's pipe
still calls her tune.
To lie within the gold
blessed fields,
beneath the glint
of harvest moon.
Fall down upon
the year's turned earth
for here do dwell
her seeds of birth.