Autumn Leaves

I walked in a field of autumn leaves
and saw orangeflame petals
dropping on the ground
yet it was not autumn

I saw a red squirrel climb onto
an old tembusu tree
and hunt for nuts in an area of darkness
and yet it was not autumn

I saw a starless sky dripped with midnight blue
and a streak of white across the sky
as a fighter pilot searched for his lost love
and yet it was not quite autumn

I saw an old lady with a basket of eggs
limping down the stairs with eyes of red
and yet it was not autumn

I saw a boisterous festive midnight crowd
run amok with glittering gifts
and plastic flowers and plastic smiles
with painted faces and painted masks
and yet it was not autumn

I heard a man scream obscenities
from a tower he'd erected himself
as the madding crowd ran away in fear
not wanting to know the naked truth
and yet it was not autumn

When I last saw autumn
she was fair and beautiful
there was no winter of discontent
nor summer of disguised content
no ugly sumatran squall
could spoil the grandeur of her orange splendour
No hailstone could wreck her fine, fine locks of ginger
rising freely against the wild wind
No summer heat could dry her up
into a desert of waste

No, autumn was once beautiful
and soft and silky and alluring
She once had the charm to captivate me
now she lies desolate and abandoned
in a wasteland of ugly leaves and thorns
twisted beyong recognition

Nobody remembers her
now that she has lost her orange splendour
- not even summer, her eternal companion

She dies alone, withering with every passing cloud
oblivious to the sound and fury
of the naked landscape.