When burnished autumn lets fall her cloak And lays it on the ground for all to tread, The night creeps around and through the trees, Dark soliders holding the moon at bay, A clear sky is pinpricked with crystal darts And, with luck, a shooting star trails its icy tail, High and bright.

Then we begin to say goodbye to three seasons, White Winter, green Spring, golden Summer, And once more complete the eternal circle Looking to the fourth for comfort; The soothing lights, the welcoming fire, The glow of knowing it was a year well spent, Each day, each night.

Helene McKenna