We sometimes underestimate the local beauty that surrounds us—let’s take the time to look.
All photos by me 🙂
This poem fits the photos.
Winter comes stealthing… it’s 5am dark,
silent and chilly; August hangs her head.
A wet summer trails to an autumn, stark,
the seasons have become confused, misled.
In light’ning sky sunless louring clouds leer,
pensive garden, summer still, holds its breath,
a blowsy brash overblown garb this year,
scents of autumn waft a whispered caress.
Look! The birds still want to wake earlier.
Rising sun shifts the black night then wakes us;
dew-laden day assists the courtier
who with the sovereign sun will shake us,
awake. Autumn day you may have dawned grey,
But we must get up and join in the fray.
Polly Stretton © 2012