The bushes are blushing Blackberry.
Means one thing for sure.
Summer's nearly over.
Autumnal colours are scratching at the door.
Ready for a bramble crumble.
Apples for cooking,
Crumble mix.
Summer is going.
Can we call it back again.
As seasons flick from change to change.
Shocking, they're turning round again.
Muggy like a criminal, laying on your chest.
Choking, holding back from moving on.
Autumn coming, summer's gone.
Sullen clouds, of black and white.
Salt and pepper sunlight.
Grey at times, then shiny white.
August the first.
Cloud burst.
Once again it's flaming hot.
(c) Livvi