The beeches form an archway of fire
the road leads into an inferno
bonfires burn the dead leaves
thoughts of summer flare and die
autumn mists shroud the future

From his hospital bed
he looks at the gilded trees
the grass flecked with gold
the squirrels bury secret hoards
for a Spring which seems uncertain

Autumn that old trickster
In its hazy, languid warmth
The bees think summer is eternal
Ripe round apples ready to fall
Mimic a forgotten Eden

On the dark elms black rooks roost
the dead rise from neglected graves
witches lurk in thick forest gloom
in haunted castles chained skeletons rattle
the world’s horrors are eclipsed for a day

The landscape is dancing into winter
the rich browns of ploughed fields
framed by the flaming hedgerows of gold
darkly dour yews stand untouched by burning beech
the setting sun a red smudge on the darkening horizon

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Sarah Das Gupta is a retired teacher from Cambridge, UK.Her work has been published in 12 countries: US, UK, Canada, Australia, India, Germany and others.

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