For years, the Toronto Daily Star ran a column on their editorial page called A Little Of Everything. This column included a daily poem.
I haven’t read many of the poems, but I assume that they vary widely in quality (I’m not a very good judge of poetry). One that I saw in the November 21 1952 edition of the Toronto Daily Star had a melancholy quality, which matched the time of year that it was written:
Because the Toronto city directories allow me to do this sort of snooping, I looked up B. H. Warr. He appears in the 1952 directory as Bertram H. Warr, and he worked as a caretaker. A few years later, he moved to a different company, where he served as an elevator operator and then as a night caretaker.
There was also a Mary M. Warr at the same address; I have no idea whether this was his wife, his sister, his mother, or some other relative. She worked as a stenographer and later as a private secretary. She appears in the 1952 and 1957 directories (I checked every five years), but not in the 1962 directory.
B. H. Warr continued on, though – he appears to have retired sometime between 1962 and 1965, as the 1965 directory just lists his home address, not his occupation. He was in the 1969 directory, which is the last one that I have access to. So he had at least 17 years after he wrote this poem to enjoy the autumn leaves, as well as all the other seasons.