THROUGH THE WINDOW

Leaves on the patio
into autumn's breath will blow.
Washing hanging on the line
to cut the grass I must find time.
Lavenders sweet smell is fading,
the pathway lays in autumn shading.
Mint and Good King Henry wilt,
to the suns last rays the flowers tilt.
Just behind the garden shed
the busy spider spins her web.
The gloves, the trug, the rake and hoe,
away for the winter you must go.
Morning dew upon the gate,
dust is early, dawn is late.
Branches waving to the sun
winter is not quite begun.
A morning mist a touch of frost
soon the garden will be lost.
Until next year when flowers bloom,
and all the day's of winter gloom.
Behind us are are long gone and past,
and once again it's spring at last.