At last the house move is finished, so I'm back!

I still can't load files, but here is a poem for the feast of ALL SAINTS - that means all of us, when we put on all our best gear and give glory to God. Nevertheless, autumn is a sad time of year. The poem reflects on all that.

NOVEMBER POEM
(1st November, Feast of All Saints)

When all the saints go marching in,
And all’s left brown and bare;
When all the soggy remnants
Just speak of our despair;

All the gold and orange
Lies squelching underfoot;
Harvest is stripped into storage,
Greens and grain and fruit.

Above the blotched horizon
The bird flocks sweep and swoop
Speckling the lonely skyline:
Landscape without hope!

But have you seen the chestnuts?
And have you seen the oaks?
And have you seen the alders
By the stream your sorrow chokes?

For every leaf that’s fallen,
The scar is grey and healed;
There’s a new bud, fat and swollen,
New year’s fresh hope, still sealed;

So where the saints went marching,
The fields won’t long be bare.
We all prepare God’s kingdom
And we will do our share.