October - the Final Cut
There is a wisp; a faint, so faint murky mist,
a mere haze.
Insufficient to beat the fading, yet conquering sun
whose warmth still triumphs,
relieving an arching, aching spine.
A weary body swivelling south whenever possible, maybe west or wherever the
rays send their therapeutic balm.
Though paling, still undeniable.
The yellows and later golden orange reciprocated by the
fallen foliage of the guarding trees.
Standing tall and serene, bastions upon which grey squirrels scamper
through the shifting passages, descending to the earth to
bury their autumn harvest.
That golden scattering covers the lush emerald carpet,
which grows, grows some more and grows again.
Never ceasing for a moment to consider the weary body,
whose voice murmurs:
“Surly. Please.
This must be the final cut.”
a mere haze.
Insufficient to beat the fading, yet conquering sun
whose warmth still triumphs,
relieving an arching, aching spine.
A weary body swivelling south whenever possible, maybe west or wherever the
rays send their therapeutic balm.
Though paling, still undeniable.
The yellows and later golden orange reciprocated by the
fallen foliage of the guarding trees.
Standing tall and serene, bastions upon which grey squirrels scamper
through the shifting passages, descending to the earth to
bury their autumn harvest.
That golden scattering covers the lush emerald carpet,
which grows, grows some more and grows again.
Never ceasing for a moment to consider the weary body,
whose voice murmurs:
“Surly. Please.
This must be the final cut.”