I thought I knew about autumn

until an English garden whispered

of warm earth, late summer fruits,

the crisp crackle of pavements

slow bronzing of leaves


found myself hoping

for some new holding of the year,

delay the iron freeze of winter

saving balmy days, flowers

captured in glass


together, under wind-pulled skies

we roamed places in the heart,

traced love lines to infinity


the robin still dances on the grass

blackberries beckon in country lanes

and while damp discards deaden underfoot,

there’s scarlet holly, leaves a defiant green

and further north the rowan


reminders of love once known

a face no longer seen.


Jacqui Stewart.