No more to say then, the autumn has made his entrance

The first willow leaves now swerve down into the water
By stealth into the shorter days, he will weave his noble rot
Upon the heady green days; on views we have lovingly shared
He will take the bluest canvas of a richly oiled landscape
Repaint it in pastel watercolour scenes of gold and russet
Yet his unwelcome embrace will bestow the northern world
Bounty on branch and earth and stream to moderate gloom
The autumn shall not be stopped and we will give him room