Blackberry sweet
elderberry shine
we cannot ignore
the approaching signs
growing along the highway
to Autumn

Grief arrives like a mist across the fields.
Bees brave the morning chill to work the last of the marjoram.
The suprise swallow nest, above the shop door, is empty.
There's a metal taste in my mouth.
It's like the tea I used to get from the Friends stall at my local hospital.
Left.
Over-stewed.
Late Summer throws her gifts at us with outrageous generosity.
Plenty beyond reason
Harvest beyond measure.

Through grass grown brown
in sweet air's chill
Summer heart
please love me still
when swallows leave
all wild geese flown
say you'll stay to be my own

Summer's queen no longer fair
wears yellowed leaves in tangled hair
silver spider webs adorn, her faded harvest crown
the living green, now sadly tinged with spots of bramble brown
she wears a faded perfume the fragrance of last year
it smells of sweet foreboding
that Autumn may be here

Today I caught a glimpse of cold,
accumulating through
a summer blazing's green-leafed hue.

In yonder search of gently swaying thunders
briscle scents of cozily wafting coffee wonders,
where rain collides and scorching light draws circles.

From where autumnal yearning lurks,
different nuances of gentle fingertips return,
directing grim muses to go berserk.

© fey (05/07/23)

there was a time
when we walked around
in the spring

when you picked flowers
to put in my basket
while i wanted to fill yours

just like that our love grew
too much,
that baskets couldn't hold em'

i thought that was a good sign about love
but who knew
unlike the birds who fly freely

those flowers will lose petals
instead of going with the flow of wind
they fall down on the ground

reminding us of autumn
every spring lover has to face it
but we couldn't

i wish now
what it would have been like
if we knew

being a spring lover is not easy
we have to go through every autumn
after every spring

a cycle that love will repeat

Decaying leaves, wet,

cold, and *****, but a bed --


for shiny chestnuts.

The clouds chasing grey

and fierce, over the canal --


a flock of starlings.

Sings a small boy whose hair is tousled by the wind,
As too the folds of his mother’s peplos and the robes of clouds,
When Greece gathers in silence like the stillness for a deposed crown,
And all Athens around, the song of eiresione for firstfruits of Autumn,
Singing boys with the olive branches of colored wool and garlanded gourds,
A fall-bird to wander the Ionic sky, foretelling of new sunrise.
How that joyful ancient voice still haunts the songbird of sunset.