Late October Wistfulness.

The paving stones are ochre and red.

The swaying trees are dripping tears

Through a floating skein of mist

That swabs my eyes with webs and phantoms.

In my mind I am still cocooned in summer

Awaiting the rustle of new spread wings

To lift me out of this season of torpor

Into a forest of tropical colour.

Tonight the time turns backwards, not forwards;

The shadows lengthen at 5 o`clock,

They are sick with dreams, a smokescreen of fables

That blot out reason with terrors and rumours.

Trees shed their leaves because daylight is fading,

They are not concerned with the bonfires we light.

Crumbs that I threw on the footpath this morning

Have all been eaten by the passing birds.

I lost my way when childhood departed,

The dead leaves falling thick and fast.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

24th. October 2020. - February 23rd 2022.