The Dick Institute

“Autumn draws near, like cat wi moose” Autumn IX by Sheena Blackhall Yestreen I heard a birdie sing Inbye a bonnie beech tree hedge As if it didnae ken nor care Autumn wis hidin in the sedge The daith o leaves is roon the neuk It peints them yalla, reid an broon An doon they’ll drap like faain rain In waesome Autumn’s dowie croon Sic cheenges cam tae great an sma First ae grey hair, a nippin knee The stert o auld age: clawin cleuks That herald yer mortality Autumn draws near, like cat wi moose It winna stop, nor else devaul A jeelin in a body’s banes A cheenge, the turn frae warm tae caul Noo blawin in the win, dry leaves Like Simmer’s ghaists, ethereal This is the Sizzen o the scythe The nichts draw in, a mournin pall