I’m sitting down to write a poem
Instead of tidying up
Or dusting off the mantelpiece
Or washing up my cups
Or ironing or vacuuming
Or looking for a job
Or moving all those papers
That have settled on the hob.
Its not really a poem
It’s a reason and excuse
because when it comes to housework
I’m just no bleedin’ use!

How far away the warm sun seems
How distant now the dappled leafy shade,
The breezes rippling Summer hay
And sighing through the drowsy woodland glade.

Now winds are cold and full of rain
The lazy sun climbs slowly from his bed
And trees are stripped of Summer’s crown
Which flutters down to carpet earth instead.

The Summer’s glorious greenery
All lies in russet tatters on the ground
The bleak black branches scrape the sky
And wait for Winter’s cold and dreary round.

The smoke from bonfires struggles up
As fires barely manage to consume
The sodden offerings from lawns
Now scoured clear of leaves by rake and broom

The luscious green of Summer’s gone,
The red and gold and brown of Autumn too,
The black and white of Wintertime
Has still to come before the year is through.

But Winter cannot last for long
The days will soon be lengthening and then
The bright green buds on Winter boughs
Will signal Spring - and leafy trees again!

I watch your train departing
And, unbidden, to my eye
Come familiar tears of sadness –
I just want to stand and cry,
But I watch as it grows smaller
And then turn, with head bowed low.
I know that you’ll be back again
But how I hate it when you go.