The Fall

As the lady of summer turns away,
her skirts leaving leafs,
introspection creeps
takes one step
towards the cooler dark center
of the year.

In the garden,
nostalgia inhabits a rose petal bed,
her hips full.

I awake, into Autumns slow decline
sweet due upon my skin
heavy with the scent of gold.

We cannot rescue the clock from slowing
nor swap tea for time,
as soft and cosy fur invites.

The widow waits at the equinox
crushing beauty bare.
Her pregnant silence holds its breath,
until the colours of her voice
embrace spring.

~ Polly Fox-Strangways


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