Autumn
The leaves are turning red and gold,
The winds are raging strong and bold,
Our countryside is looking bleak
And snow is on the mountain peak.
The rabbits scurry to and fro',
The cold air proves there will be snow.
The snow is coming on quite fast,
The air is hit with a mighty blast.
Snow is swirling through the air,
With never a thought and never a care.
Now the snow is swirling past,
The village has some peace at last.
It appears that I was ten years old when I wrote this poem. Considering that this was the work of a small boy living very much in industrial Manchester, it occurs to me there was a lot of feeling for the countryside. Of course we did use to go out to Clitheroe and for day trips into Derbyshire. I do remember these occasions as being very enjoyable. It was on a day trip near the Snake pass reservoirs that I remember my father mentioning "fossils", and I asked what they were!