The last of the poems, both thematically and chronologically, in the Season Cycle (along with Winter Days, Days in Spring, & Summer Nights). I think my feelings about this season are pretty apparent come the end of the poem.

Autumn Morning

A morning in autumn –
The wind whistling round
Blows the leaves as it’s caught them
They don’t touch the ground
There’s grit in the air
Stinging your eyes
There’s knots in your hair
(But at least there’s no flies)
It’s a day briskly cold
Not like two months ago
It’s orange and gold
But soon morning must go
The wind dies away
The sun tries to warm
Yet the rest of the day
Seems somehow forlorn
And the worst of the deal?
It’s dark by half six
Which makes you feel
That God’s playing tricks
The day has just raced
The hours have flown
It seems such a waste
And if you’re alone
Its worse – now I’m glum
It makes me so blue
I cannot love autumn –
I will leave it to you.

© Darryn Roberts 2001

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