White wispy clouds scud across the sky
And brown trembling leaves lose their hold,
Power cables dance as the air rushes by
And a lone figure leans into the cold.
In the pale autumn sun not a seagull soars,
Trees bend as roots grip the ground
And while the whining wind through the hedgerow bores
The fox knows he's safe from the hound.
the above work is copyright David Axton © All Rights Reserved