Autumn Mist

The seasons change

An Autumn Morning

Frost is a curtain,

Made of soft ice,

That covers the world,

In the fresh morning light.

Spiders curse,

At their easy-see webs,

"No flies this morning."

An old spider bets.

Ice covered,

Like a beautiful cake,

To this scene,

The wide world awakes!

The icy air,

Turns your breath to snow,

And right over there,

Is a frost-covered oak.

From many chimneys,

Rise smoke from wood fires,

And an old raven,

Lands on a church spire.

We are now entering,

A world of cold,

And all don mittens,

The young to the old.

Elinor Tuffnell