Seasonal Turn

Seasonal Turn-
e.webb

The Morns turn dimmed , go un noticed,
in its un trimmed sitting,

Seeds sat Green turn in colour 
to burnt brown as seen,
Squirrels that hid. a larder,
must retrace where they have been, 
to feed when no nut is seen

No Rose found in any a eve, not a single bud,
and fields fresh in acid green, turn brown like antiquated mud,

Hung from branches leaves in scarlet,
 wait for a wind or gravity,
to take them from a summers sit,
detached from a mothering tree

Bitter Bite is in low sky, 
moans of a complaint,
from winds blown by,

told to hills who sit as furrows,
to slopes feet , in valley narrows,

a dawn comes with no report, no sound to days greet,

all onward pass , as day sequences to day,
summers course, punctually as ever,
is soon in life displayed