The nights close in, as the veil of autumn falls,
With tumbling daylight hours, and its golden leafy sprawls,
Lights twinkle from the skies, and through partly curtained windows,
As we rise and then return under those fading auburn glows.
The smell of the smoke from bonfires and chimneys,
The sound of tramping boots and mud-daubed wellies,
The sight of rain-spotted coats and woolly-hatted broods,
Toffee apple gatherings and the aroma of comfort foods.
Days of muted sunshine, with less light now on show,
And fields and lanes aflame with autumn’s gorgeous glow,
A time of trick or treating and those crackling firework sounds,
And dawning after pumpkin night, All Saints Day comes around.
Left aside in the supermarket sweep of winter wonders,
A cast of colourful characters, lies forgotten, left asunder.
Heroes and hopers and fullhearted human-kind,
Believers unafraid to lay everything on the line.
Before DC or Marvel splashed their tall tales abroad,
Some real history-makers stepped up, faithful and flawed,
Following in the indelible steps of a carpenter sublime,
Bringing a different kind of light to the dark corridors of time,
Inviting us to embark on a gloom-dispelling mission,
A celebration of salvation with a resurrection vision.