The soft glow of the twilight
Peeks through my garden gate...
A favorite time of evening,
I anxiously await...

The birds have sought their shelter
In the branches of the trees...
And softly, as the sun goes down...
There comes a gentle breeze

Autumn-time is lurking...
Waiting for her turn,
When her leaves of red and gold
Will be gathered up to burn...

The sweet smell of the fire
Will drift across the wind...
It will take me back in years...
And I'll be young again!


Janeane Bolton
2003 used with permission
JaneaneBolton@sbcglobal.net


 

 



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