Walking through these sweet scented leaves
I know autumn has come.
A solitary bird
Sings somewhere in the cool air.
While outside these sheltering trees
Civilisation goes on
And a few solitary birds
Sing their song
Of empires long since gone.
When a churchyard tree
Dripped rain on me
I thought that I ought
Not to swear
For the rain will remain
When that tree
And me are where
We will know no rain.
I shall stand aside
And let the wind decide
And where the wind blows
I too will go.
Sometimes my belief
Is that grief
Conquers all.
Then I recall
The air
In late August
Carrying hay
And coming Autumn.
Such sweet air
Carries no despair.
As the rain fell
I thought of our love
Of rain.
You and I
Share the same sky.
But does love
Hide inside the rain.
Sitting on this fallen log
With my dog
Nearby, I touch the reality
Of this tree,
Which once stood
In this Great North Wood.
It’s brother trees still stand
Their canopy shading me
From the evening sun.
Others will come
And sit or stand
In this place
When this old fallen tree
And you who
Now read me
Have vanished without trace.
The scents of a mild July
Fill the woodland air.
There has been a heavy downpour.
I know there
Will be more
Rain to soak the dry
Earth here in the UK.
While elsewhere
People die
In the blistering sun.
Today, it is not the UK.
But another heatwave will surely come
And we will pray
For the rain again.
The autumn
Used to bring fallen leaves
While the springtime
Brought flowers.
Now I rhyme
Of confusion
and the illusion of progress.
But man’s hour?
I know not
When his clock may stop.
This falling rain
Offers an excuse to remain
In the dry
Pub. So you and I,
Forgetting the rain,
Drink again.
Though we know
When we go
The rain
Will remain.
Amidst these windswept trees
I feel free
Of modernity.
For the breeze
Drowns out the noise
Of broken
Toys.
In this wood
A tree
Fall
Could end all
This modernity,
Leaving no rhyme
Behind.
A couple of days ago, I published a poem entitled “Man” https://kmorrispoet.com/2023/07/14/man/. Below is a slightly amended and extended version of that poem:
I know that these trees
Are Older than man
And the church
Which so many men pass
Without a glance
Or a sigh
As they hurry by.
K Morris - Poet 