An Autumn Poem
James Hargreaves 15/09/2013
Wretched summer is gone,
With its oppressive, smothering heat,
And the wind has blown cold for a week.
The air outside is no longer spread,
With the frying sun that tangles my brain,
And the sticking swelter which ruins the day.
The house inside is no longer a spit,
A nervous breakdown, a constant fret,
A perpetual basting in anxiety and sweat.
Instead, the sky is overcast,
Outside, a happy world of grey,
Inside, a cosy fireplace.
The radiators' click and smell,
Of heated metal glowing in the wall,
While the cold seeps in through every door.
The trees and hedges flap in the gale,
While I watch in comfort from my easy chair,
The rending wind that fills the air.
The leaves have not yet begun to change,
The sun doesn't yet shine from the side,
But this sunset is sweeter than the day and the night.
James Hargreaves 15/09/2013
Wretched summer is gone,
With its oppressive, smothering heat,
And the wind has blown cold for a week.
The air outside is no longer spread,
With the frying sun that tangles my brain,
And the sticking swelter which ruins the day.
The house inside is no longer a spit,
A nervous breakdown, a constant fret,
A perpetual basting in anxiety and sweat.
Instead, the sky is overcast,
Outside, a happy world of grey,
Inside, a cosy fireplace.
The radiators' click and smell,
Of heated metal glowing in the wall,
While the cold seeps in through every door.
The trees and hedges flap in the gale,
While I watch in comfort from my easy chair,
The rending wind that fills the air.
The leaves have not yet begun to change,
The sun doesn't yet shine from the side,
But this sunset is sweeter than the day and the night.
