In this season of bonfires and sizzling hogs,
mysterious bangs scare the life from your dog.
Let’s set fire to a guy,
poke hot sticks in his eye,
turn the football pitch into a bog.
When fireworks crack, where’s the terror in that?
They should cartwheel like vampire bats;
send up screams to the sky,
make your ears want to die
while flames roar like an arson attack.
There are some things that make autumn worthwhile.
Now a popular pastime to light up a smile
is a vegetable game
with a knife and a flame
and soliciting strangers at night.
This bountiful season keeps foragers thin:
scour forests and hedgerows, and somewhere within
is where yew berries grow,
spiked with ivy and sloes,
and the trees you’ll find conkernuts in.
There are mushrooms and molehills invading the green,
blind diggers grow mudpiles from five to fifteen.
Then these leaves will need raking
and bagging and taking
away to the chopping machine.
A month of rain falls in a sewer-swelling flood.
Any grass that was grass is now footsucking mud.
For these marshes are deep
and the winter will creep,
freezing earth through its skin to its blood.