THIS GOLDEN ALBION

When the first dew appears
Hazy, watery sunshine
Perched on a single leaf,
The last vestiges of summer
Fall away.
September in England, my England
The first step to a golden albion.
The fruit in abundance, harvest all
Natures cup overflowing to Gods call.
Sand whips the lonely shore
Where many tiny feet have played,
Love gained, summer strained
Promenade lights glittering to ghosts once more.
The sun shades his eyes on the horizon
Just a whisper of an embers glow,
Rabbits and badgers all nestled down
Leaving autumn to others, they snuggle down below.
This is the golden albion
Where legend calls the tune,
Fiery nights of passion and sparks
Old folklore etched in runes.
The trees bare their bones
As their occupants take to the skies,
Where an artist has unleashed his colours
Vivid cloud patterns excite our eyes.
The warmth of summer love
Is fading with tanned skin,
The death of leaves in copper tones
Peeling life away from within.
This golden albion
England in its autumn glory,
When summer fades into glowing memory
The haze begins a new winters story.

Phil Hall  August 2013