By Chris Roe

Harvest is gathered,
Fields lay bare,
Already turned to the plough.
Pheasant and partridge lose their cover.
Grain piled high in the barn,
Straw stacked for winter use.

The evening breeze, sharper, cooler,
Colours, dancing on the autumn wind.
Trees in winter silhouette,
An early morning frost,
A dusting of snow,
Cold, dark, winter evenings.

A glowing fire in the grate,
Another log brightens the flame,
A warm drink,
A comfortable chair,
Time to rest,
To sleep,
To dream of spring.

The above poem is from

In Search of Silence

a collection of 45 poems written by Chris Roe including 7 watercolour prints by his brother Paul

Visit Silent Flight Publications for more details

Read more poems from Chris Roe

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