Autumn Song

Little amber lights
Flicker on every tree,
A rustle of laden branches, Fallen golds, tarnished grey.

Out of the crickets’ song, The ground pulse arises, Wild with the wind’s touch,
Crisp, yet tender, still, Faint with the slow of dusk.

A low soft crying Floats like warmth between, In clear trees, bare but brown, Peace of the last leaves,
Sleep on a cool moss,
With silence above the porch,
Where the dusk beats lightly.

They scatter the wind, Through the joyous earth,
And as they drift, Like a lullaby, So the air falls, Words become the action,
Life wears the dusk’s soft embrace.

• T E Hulme