A typically English, almost poetic, gentle rant written in 1993 when Autumn arrived in mid August (like 2009 and 2014)
Days opened with lavender mists,
That moved as slowly as a theatre curtain,
Revealing gold-tipped sets.
Summer had left the stage
While we were still awaiting
Her sunshine soliloquy –
She gave a poor performance.
Autumn insinuated into play
In mid – August,
Like a villain in a melodrama.
We could hardly believe
His blatant upstaging.
Days shortened,
Dampness crept into clothes and bones.
Actors gradually assumed
Costumes in rustier hues
And bulkier construction.
The lights dimmed,
The music of trampled leaves
Built up the tension as the cast trembled,
Anticipating the fatal plunge
Of winter’s icy dagger.
© Lynne Joyce, 11-09-1993.