![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiW_M10LCMKwhwDjb-nRDGpO4lnY0cnNehz3pV3jiIOdSW4Fl03y7tmO_HyMq0Asbknqc5vPiA3IA37i6QxksfVDqxymykQHCh2yQ5LhhcWQHkEuXJUFy6I3TRhKNBpZ86d3Abw654XKrS/s320/Drive+autumn1.jpg)
My Autumn Driveway.
"Ho!
for the leaves that eddy down,
Crumpled yellow a
nd withered brown,
Hither and yonder and up the street
And trampled under the passing feet;
Swirling, billowing, drifting by,
With a whisper soft and a rustling sigh,
Starting aloft to windy ways,
Telling the coming of bonfire days."
- Grace Strickler Dawson, Bonfire Days
Crumpled yellow a
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KYDPBxRdbQ6iEJhtCimLsvTtu7mNWFssK_bgJKSuXt-PsHgsNd4D_5JCyl3AneZnZzovvm17gAvktse1UI6nB9MUpZRc8idf0EeCvhLEucVSmHq1IlFs3g7bzqbtFllNAcIgz7QcTmuw/s400/Drive+autumn.jpg)
Hither and yonder and up the street
And trampled under the passing feet;
Swirling, billowing, drifting by,
With a whisper soft and a rustling sigh,
Starting aloft to windy ways,
Telling the coming of bonfire days."
- Grace Strickler Dawson, Bonfire Days