Onset of Autumn
The low grey morning cloud
in the wake of the cold night rain
scuds swiftly from the windward,
attempting to suck the light
from the growing day.
The half-clothed Poplars
rustle flimsy petticoats
in protest, attempting to halt
the clouds progress
but they are relentless
in their drive toward
the North-East, their sights set
on the cold North Sea,
Scandinavia, and beyond.
Little know they
that their progress will be checked
by Earth's rotational forces,
and their heads will be turned
like some wild-eyed
driving-horses
reined in from bolting, having spooked
in the dark wet night.
The low grey morning cloud
in the wake of the cold night rain
scuds swiftly from the windward,
attempting to suck the light
from the growing day.
The half-clothed Poplars
rustle flimsy petticoats
in protest, attempting to halt
the clouds progress
but they are relentless
in their drive toward
the North-East, their sights set
on the cold North Sea,
Scandinavia, and beyond.
Little know they
that their progress will be checked
by Earth's rotational forces,
and their heads will be turned
like some wild-eyed
driving-horses
reined in from bolting, having spooked
in the dark wet night.
Drawn back toward the land, they tire
and give up the fight for flight,
and with the sun on their backs
they meekly evaporate
into.....
thin.....
air.
©Rob King 2012
Oh, very nice, Rob, like it. And about time too..........Lx
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