To Autumn, 1820:

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells. ~ From John Keats' poem, To Autumn, 1820

To Autumn, 2012

The sun doth creep behind the night
The trees bed down before Jack arrives
The geese and cranes begin to flock
And ere the Maple turns to red and gold

Remember yet the warm days within the fall winds
Enjoy and dream upon the summer's bounty
Reaped now amidst the autumn breezes
And when the Maple turns from gree to gold
Tis time to ready the coats and ready mitts

Jack is next along the path to coat
The leaves and hide the grass
So as the red and gold leaves sparkle
And drift upon the North wind's gusts

Enjoy the colours and warm meadow air
Walk amid berries, seeds and crunching leaves
Until once more your breath precedes you on the frigid air
Is there yet time for one more stroll before the land slumbers in white?
~From J Adamson's poem To Autumn

Namaste Texture my own and Distressed Jewels Fall Returns

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