Paracrostic

A poem in which the initial letters of each line read down the page reproduce the poem’s first line

Autumn’s here again

Usurping summer’s reign:

Tiresome thoughts of Christmas lists,

Unwholesome, chilly morning mists,

Mud in every lane.

November knocking on the door,

Sunless glumness to endure,

Harvest festivals galore,

Endless year-end chores in store

Relentless wind and rain.

Energy in short supply

As flowers wither, wilt and die –

Growth foredoomed to wane.

And now, as colours fade to grey,

Is Autumn all that poets say?

No! Autumn is a pain.