A careless footstep in this wash of
Even a word spoken too loudly,
Will scare this timid autumn far away.
Take care, it rests so lightly now.
The branches are black against the
And boughs that sheltered you now can't
Gone are the summer smells of pine resin
Left, the dank freshness of slowly
The calm before many storms.
Can you remember those stories of childhood,
Where animals talked and were kind
as folk should be?
Adventures crept from the hollow hills,
while enchantments quivered the air.
One by one the golden leaves of childhood
Magic drowned among the roots,
By light, persistent rain.
Now I must follow the path to winter,
without the banks of burning splendour
To gladden my passing.
Breath's clouds lost in the drisk and
The bladed wind makes the way more
The light cut thin, the day much older.
Count this falling treasure, hope the
buds and cantlet acorns grow.
No paths can lead you back the way
And only Christ can let you find the
Andrew Charles Dallaston
( 1973 )