An Autumn Day
I haven't rambled for a while,Too busy, too tired, who really knows.
We've been hanging on to summer
For a while but now it seems the die
Has cast and here we are, I'm wearing boots,
Another pair, they've rubbed slightly
But I am sure that I will work them in.
It is five in the afternoon, the streetlights
Are flickering, although not dark as yet
And the man in the kiosk across the square
He wears sunglasses and a heavy overcoat,
He won't be there in another week or so
As tourists head for home, or more select
Ways in which to spend their time.
The shops have asked for extended hours
And already there are signs that lights
Will soon adorn our streets as buskers play
La Fête dé Noué hangs posters up and
Songs will be sung as throngs around
The Royal Square and stalls and things,
Spiced hot cidre, garlic sausages grilled
And eaten in a sliced baguette, the
Smell beguiling but with a kick,
I'll no doubt buy Le Petit Bleu, creamy
A vein of blue, it spreads, no it crawls
Out of the harder layer, softly smooth
To spread upon something crisp and plain.
The wooden decorations once bought,
Have faded and so the wood turner
Has turned and painted and here they hang,
I like the wooden drummer boys
Their smart blue trousers and red blazers
With stripes of gold, their wooden faces
Always smiling, except the one, the one I bought,
I liked his individuality and fraught,
I wonder if he faded in a jaded way
to the ever evoking memory of
Smells of pine and essences of cinnamon.
I haven't rambled for a while and while I read
I realise that really this is just perhaps a mawkish
Trail of travelled thoughts, on this an Autumn day.
Poetry by Elle
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2014-10-23 at 18:17
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