| Introduction Autumn’s Fallen was written in 2012, long before gardening became my profession. At the time, I saw autumn leaves simply as something beautiful that deserved far more appreciation than they were given. Their colour, their brief lives and their final dance upon the autumn wind inspired the poem you are about to read. Fourteen years later, I still see that same beauty, but experience has taught me something more. A fallen leaf is not simply the end of a story. It becomes shelter for wildlife, nourishment for the soil and the quiet beginning of another season. I have never wanted to rewrite the poem I wrote in 2012 because it still reflects exactly how I felt at the time. Instead, I wanted to answer it. The first poem was written by someone who admired nature. The second was written by someone who has spent years working within it. Together, they are two voices, fourteen years apart, sharing the same fascination with the natural world. |
| Earthen Simplicity … Autumn’s Fallen Sacrificed in the millions and not a look do we spare, Think not do we, but expect them to be there, Yet when they are, do we give them but a glance? Only in autumn do we see their frenzied dance! Refugees of the barrens, they do but become, Dying in the droves, as soon as winter shuns, But do we see them well when they are in full fruit? A myriad of exciting colours swaying in salute, Proud to be bold adventurers of the higher wonders, Blissfully unaware that soon they will be torn asunder! Nay ‘tis not often that we seriously appreciate, These brave rustlers before they do dissipate, Curse them we do, as they lay dead upon the ground, Awaiting the winds to blow them into ceremonial mounds, Think not do we about their life sadly oh so brief, Nor do we see them ever as a single beautiful leaf, To us, they are just but life upon the trees, Serving no other purpose but to dangle helplessly, See them we do, when enjoying sultry summer days, Under their shaded cover from the sun’s burning rays, Acknowledge them we do when protected by their shade, Praising the stunning foliage, thankful of their display, Take this time then to consider their plight to come, When they are dead and dying and fallen in the autumn! © Rory Matier 2012 |
| Earthen Simplicity… Autumn’s Promise [The Second Verse] Beneath our boots they softly lie, A woven quilt ‘neath lowering sky, The colours faded, bright no more, Yet richer now than days before. For what seems death to hurried eyes, Is but where Nature’s wisdom lies; The branch releases without grief, For every tree must spare a leaf. The robin knows before we see, The blackbird works industriously; The beetle slips beneath the fold, A palace built from crimson gold. The hedgehog seeks a quiet bed, Where countless autumn leaves are spread; The spider weaves from stem to stem, Whilst morning jewels cover them. The worms below begin their feast, The smallest first, the greatest least; The fungi reach with unseen hand, Uniting root with woodland land. What yesterday gave welcome shade, Now nourishes the woodland glade; Returning slowly to the earth, Preparing yet another birth. The gardener walks with slower tread, Not seeing leaves now dead; But future borders, dark and deep, Where hidden promises now sleep. For every oak and ash and beech, Has lessons still they long to teach; That nothing living ends in vain, But journeys home through earth again. So let them gather where they fall, For Nature wastes no gift at all; The autumn wind may claim the tree, Yet gives the soil its legacy. Sweep only where our pathways lie, Leave quiet corners standing by; For there, unseen by passing eyes, Tomorrow’s living garden lies. And should you pause on autumn’s day, Whilst golden leaves are blown away, Remember this before they’re gone— The tree lets go… So life lives on. © Rory Matier 2026 |
| Some poems are written for a moment in time. Others quietly wait for time to answer them. Echoes Through the Garden – The Second Verse revisits poems first written years ago, not to rewrite or replace them, but to continue the conversation. Seen through the eyes of a gardener, a naturalist and the passing of years, each original poem is accompanied by a new companion piece, offering fresh understanding shaped by experience, seasons and the quiet lessons the garden has taught. Together, they become two verses of the same story—one written then, the other written now. |
The Gardener's Curious Journal 