Come the Autumn

Amongst the blackberries

and the brambles, a different bird

will rhapsodise...the swallows succumbed

to warmer climes.

Our pine ‘love-seat’ at the top

of the hill will give itself to dust,

and a wrought-iron bench, there in its stead.

Except, it won’t be us

watching the sun go down; taking comfort

in the way nature carries on, day

on day, regardless of pain.

‘The show must go on’,  kind of thing,

to coin a phrase. But it’s true, my dear,

so very true.

And in the house we fondly think of as our own,

someone else will be at home, whilst

we are away...lighting lamps at dusk,

misting up the windows,

calling in a different dog from the field,

and I get to wondering, what if

we two hadn’t chosen the route we did.

Something that seemed insignificant

at the time, like a tiny twig fallen

in a brook changing a river’s course...

miles downstream.

And so, tonight, as we, routinely, put

the clocks back, we’re only kidding ourselves,

but if only we could, wouldn’t it be nice,

my dear.  So very, very nice...