“The colours! All them colours! Enjoy it while you can!” Gun Roswell
Leaves on the trees
Leaves on the ground
Even at my doorstep
Can they be found
Autumn’s foliage
Soon turning to dust
Still enough for joliage
And enjoy it I must
“It’s that time of the year, no fear, just warmth and colours all around.” Gun Roswell
Oh bitter sweet September
The time for splendor
The nature soon covered
With a variety of beautiful colours
The illusion of warmth
Before the storm
“It is harvest time, in the garden, and not just for us humans” Gun Roswell
Behind, the lush grown, hidden small size gates
A tiny, really old dwelling, the on looker baits
And, for the odd traveller, just passing by
To simply dare, to step, inside
For there is nothing more alluring, than the unknown and divine
The cottage, once, in screaming bright red painted
But now, mostly, the exterior’s inviting flash, is all faded
It is as quaint as the trimmings of the windows
But still standing strong, even after all the wind blows
And into the past, the history, it invites to explore
Guarded, by the tiniest of inanimate gnomes
Sitting there, in a solemn quiet and an orderly row
They seem smiling and totally life like
And, if you dare to misstep, then you will feel their spite
For they are the guardians of the cottage’s life
The trees, now filled with apples, oranges and berries
After all, it is that time, most of us cherish
The Autumn falling slowly, onto the waiting land
With all the colours so bright, you can hardly stand
Foliage, they dwellers say, and then, offer you a hand
It is now, near harvest time, for both the bees, birds and human kind
Every single living thing gathering their reward, knowing, they have scored
When their stomachs are filled with delicious nectar and food
From apples, oranges, berries, and all, who can really and honestly choose!
So step into the world of wonder, you really have nothing to lose!
“Look all around, for the colours there to be found!” Gun Roswell
The colours are of plenty
The wind cooling gently
Nature filled with changes
Much like the turning of pages
“Sometimes it’s good to stay hidden from everyone else.” Gun Roswell
A peeping tammy
Got up her fanny
She blamed the nanny
Which was quite canny
Because even granny
Could have seen Danny
Walk by
“Up up up the tree top we thrive, even if it’s just some narrow branches, ready to break our… thighs?” Gun Roswell
Rock-a-bye baby
On the tree top
I am feeling kind of hazy
So I better just stop!
“Even the most mundane can be pretty during the Fall.” Gun Roswell
Suburbia living
Is quite fitting
Eternal kicking
Sometimes ripping
But ones chipping in
You are fitting in
“It might be late in the summer, autumn time even, but the colours are as vibrant as ever, in the local small market place here as I them see“ Gun Roswell
The shadows so tall, as the setting sun is going down, now the summer is finally over, but fear not, as the colourful tents at the market place, will continue the spirit of the warm season long until the end of autumn, only disappearing with the first signs of snow, and even then, the more bolder shopkeepers, will brave the elements, while setting up their orange tents each and every day, until the winter storms settle over the place for good.
“It is once again that time of the year when the sun will fear the upon coming of winter, laying low during the day and even when setting, but it’s so red and pretty!” Gun Roswell
End of the day will come no matter the times.
It can be a little later or even earlier depending on the seasonal chime.
For the late autumn or fall, the light of the day will try to stall.
But never winning against the night the darkness soon upon.
The sun though never faltering its stance no matter the dance.
Late in the year or early in the hours of the new morn’.
The rays will remain there on the surface just one more moment time to
Rantings Of A Third Kind 
