To Autumn by John 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-
eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel
shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days, will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their
clammy cells.

As you can gather i have been reading up on some of my poetry home work today, came across this one by Keats and thought it went with the autumnal day we have had!