The last of the summer sun is fading fast
Time to reflect on the past
Why not lay in bed with the covers over your head?
For winter is coming
The flowers are all dead
The cold is so numbing
And the wind bites into your flesh
The air condenses you breath
But alas do not despair
For as you shiver the fires are being made
Rockets and sparklers things that go bang
Jacket potatoes hot soup too
Are all ready for you and your gang
Bonfire night is on the way
No reproduction without permission Copyright poemmaker 2009