Season's change

I walked to the station today
and my head was filled with gloom

Bees are starving in the hive
whilst slugs lie fat on the pavement
bursting from their glistening skins

Knots of shaved and powerful Poles
sit on benches nursing bottles
and complaining about pay

Their demeanour ripples in
the newly-formed black lakes
that stand around defeated drains

Overhead, the Horse Chestnuts
always in the vanguard
discolour like an elderly Prince

All this whilst perfect peppermint leaves
popping winter buds
still burn their image in my eyes

This dark, wet, most dismal summer
hurries with indecent haste
from the stage

And another dreary morning
drags my stiffening joints
towards the season’s turn