A STROLL IN THE PARK
I stroll through the park,
Tis a cold autumn day.
I walk by the lake,
Waters murky and grey.
Tall trees once blossomed,
Have since lost their coat.
Dead leaves, lifeless,
To earth they float.
The trickling sound of water,
Flowing down a stream.
Thick moss, spreading wildly,
Pathways painted green.
The rustling of dead leaves,
Shades of Autumn spread.
Colours of the season,
Orange, browns and red.
By
SHEILA FARRER
© Copyright Reserved 2006
I stroll through the park,
Tis a cold autumn day.
I walk by the lake,
Waters murky and grey.
Tall trees once blossomed,
Have since lost their coat.
Dead leaves, lifeless,
To earth they float.
The trickling sound of water,
Flowing down a stream.
Thick moss, spreading wildly,
Pathways painted green.
The rustling of dead leaves,
Shades of Autumn spread.
Colours of the season,
Orange, browns and red.
By
SHEILA FARRER
© Copyright Reserved 2006
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