Listen

Listen for the rustle of the curling, falling leaves,

listen for birds resting, far from nesting, in the eves.

Summer slips out,

sunshine-boy hat doffed,

sky overdressed in louring clouds

full of sticky, slicky rain.

Listen for the movement of the gasping, thirsty ground,

listen for sheep bleating, something fleeting in the sound.

Autumn strolls in,

grey overcoat buttoned,

town underwhelmed by shorter days

spent in dusty, fusty bars.

Listen for the message of the passing, fading year

listen for me sighing, not yet dying - I’m still here.