IT IS THIS TIME OF YEAR

in the bowl
on the table contains
the last of this seasons fruit
laying this way and that
puckered and pruny, they go
uneaten, they wilt in silence
unable to provoke an appetite
in anyone in the house
who happens to walk by, so they
remain unattended, staying put daily
as they bear witness to a souless sun
as it listlessly tries peeking
through the window hoping
to shed some light on a situation
beyond it's control
still it is unable  to withstand
the whole day, it is this
time of year when
the sun fades quickly
seeming in retreat always, as
the stars once again
remind who is in charge

By Michael Perry