Autumn brings out the poet in all of us
There is nothing like the old favourites - read this one aloud, it sounds so like Brinsop at this time of year. To Autumn, by J Keats Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit… read more on Autumn brings out the poet in all of us