Another circular poem. Or whatever it’s really called. If anyone else wants to have a go on the theme of Autumn, just leave the poem in the comments and I’ll post it with links to your blog.
High tide floods the bank,
Lank grasses float,
Motes of golden light,
Flight of gulls on the sea wind yell,
Tell the message from the northern ice.
Twice, thrice the hound bays the moon,
Soon winter will split the boughs,
Soughs the wind through the reeds,
Seeds of winter blowing,
Snowing in the northern wastes.
Tastes the bitter cold waiting in the shadows,
Shallows full of broken pieces of the summer past,
Last resting place for drifts of wood cast up to dry,
High tide floods the bank.