Autumn Woes
Not a hedgehog, we cannot sleep
Midday wreathed in pale grey cloud, miles deep
A rock, a tree, a bush, a cellar
No place to hide for a small town dweller
The sun she hides, shining elsewhere
No warmth till spring, only weeds do fare
Well, atop broken glass walls, along cracks
Autumn has found us, so grab your Macs
