The flashing lights of passing cars
Make rows of shiny pearls appear
Along the shaky boughs and twigs
Of the old birch guarding the house.
The early night will show no stars
To lead me past this time of year,
Nor will the dead leaves with their jigs
A long-dead sentiment arouse.
A wintry mood has just set in,
I have picked up its lazy tune;
And though I’d rather not give in
I can’t restrain my weary croon.
Who needs the sunset, after all?
Too many shades of red and blue,
None well defined, none seeming true,
Only the day’s strict protocol,
What first goes up will have to fall.
Who needs the autumn leaves, do you?
Yellow and brown will work out fine,
Red’s always been a fave of mine,
But what’s the point, when one is blue
And has a gloomy point of view?
The fact is, when the days grow short,
The air’s still velvety and warm,
The changing colours as a norm
Will give me comfort – of a sort.