Run to Seed

The summer-flower has run to seed,
And yellow is the woodland bough;

And every leaf of bush and weed
Is tipt with autumn’s pencil now.

And I do love the varied hue,
And I do love the browning plain;

And I do love each scene to view,
That’s mark’d with beauties of her reign.

The woodbine-trees red berries bear,
That clustering hang upon the bower;

While, fondly lingering here and there,
Peeps out a dwindling sickly flower.


Taken from the poem, "Autumn" by John Clare, written in 1821.

Thank you all for your kind and encouraging comments yesterday. Taking my baby to Kindergarten was something I thought I was prepared for, and the burst of emotions totally caught me off guard. I expected to miss him, but didn't expect the tears that spontaneously sprouted as soon as my back was turned. I'm much better today. At least for now.