Autumn has not yet come.
Yet the sun shines
On dry leaves.
I find in my mind
That Autumn has come
And my leaves
Have Turned to grey.
But I am still here
In this fading year
Though my May
Has long since run away.
We go through birth.
Then, like leaves
We feed the earth.
But before we fall
We enjoy the bird’s call.
Though none can outrun
The setting sun.
I am often told
That time
Is merely an illusion.
Yet rhyme
Has beginning and end.
And time
My ever present friend
Will stop
This ageing clock
In the end.
These fallen leaves
On the cold January ground
Send a message profound.
I am bound
To be as these leaves
And fertilize the ground.
Now I’ve passed the half century mark
And the dark
Of night no longer hides from sight,
A girl’s hand
Laid on my arm
And the charm
Of her dark hair
Can still command
My poet’s heart and art.
All you said,
Was “take care”,
But your long black hair
And open heart
Brought the thought of bed
Where no lover does grace
The vacant space.
My dog (still young)
Enjoys these fallen leaves
Flung across pavements
By Winter’s breeze,
Where they lie
As he and I
Pass by
On a December day.
In childhood we play
With fairies. But they
Do not stay
And we engage
On the world’s stage.
Then, in old age
We fancy
We see
A fairy
Ere we enter eternity.
Flowers in springtime
Bring to mind
A former springtime.
But I find
That my November,
And oncoming December
Haunt my mind.
My hair is thinning.
I drink and think
On sinning with women.
And, as I drink
I ponder on
Where my hair
Has upped and gone!
I walk at a fair old lick
And pass many elderly men and women
With their walking stick.
And, should impatience try to master me
I recall that December
Comes to us all.
And find within me a temporary humility.
In early December
I heard
The dawn bird
And did remember
Another year
Will soon end.
My friends
Are growing older.
I hear
Pretty young women
Ask me
About family matters.
There will be
No more sinning.
Merely hot tea
And matters
Of domesticity
For me.
K Morris - Poet 