the waning of the year

In the silent sunlight,

and the waning of day,

the relentless footfall of Autumn

draws blood red tears

from the trees.

As they weep

a carpet grows

at their feet,

smothering the dull earth

with their blessing of colour.

The whispering of leaves

The whispering of leaves:

Autumn begins its

‘come all ye’ song,

gentle as wool,

sheep’s clothing

for the wolf

of howling Winter.

The discarded confetti

of surrendering trees

decorates the path

for white wedding snow,

icy jewels

and the intercourse

of cold.

These are the nether days

when wardrobes

are opened

and summer dresses

entombed in hibernation.

brightly fallen

It’s brightly fallen

this random rich clothing

on the welcoming ground:

the bright glister of gold

echoing sharp sunlight

of shortening days.

More regal than faux red carpet,

a crown beneath my feet:

the pre-Advent promise of a King

in the waiting wings

of the closing of the year.

A short-lived hosanna of Autumn,

before greying to shroud

in the clench of unwelcome Winter

and the uninvited bite

of reality

when the King

like these trees is stripped.

A carpet for the King

A carpet for the King

Advent announced the carpet is laid;

a million gold-brown joys

smother colding grasses.

Winter hides around the turn of days,

its cold beckoning

an ambush for fading light.

Winds trumpet changes -

scolding tarrying clouds

and spreading the royal mat

to forgotten corners.

These are not palm leaf welcome

hiding bitterness in their greeting.

These are bitter days

heralding the warmth

of Christmas love.