A Quiet Time
Ken Allan Dronsfield
Wing beats echo across the calm on the pond;
stirring mixed passions as summer fades away.
A warmer sun once greeted me; a cherished bond
but now the crispy mists are there to start my day.
Many trees blossom with colorful flowers of Fall,
we watch them slowly glide towards the ground;
squirrels are scurrying along the old stone wall;
stashing their acorns for winterīs coolish frowns.
Looking to the west I see the wood smoke rise;
from cabins on the hill so wondrously sublime.
The North brings the geese flying high in the skies.
Yes, Autumn resets her clock, itīs now Quiet Time.