Deep crimson, swollen with juice
fruitfulness bends the bough.
Ripened by summer’s rays
skin shining in warm showers.
You hang in glorious maturity
tantalisingly out of reach
safe from the harvester
stirring desire more than any other.
Your serenity is a gift
suspended above mayhem
on the furious bend of a motorway slip road.
Slender branches silhouette
beneath his golden crown.
Sparks thrown out by the silver sun
ignite his flaming hues.
The autumnal prince towers above
ethereal mists, caught between earth and sky.
In a final flourish, passionate embers
of saffron and copper smoulder.
Only to cool as the light fades
and chill winds blow.
Each yellow fingered leaf, I mourn
as it falls and returns to it’s roots.
I will his warming glow to remain
to comfort my spirits during
November’s nip and winters depths.
Knowing my protests cannot halt
ruthless frosts from calling “time”.