Silence rides autumn winds,
carrying muted sighs of a season’s birth.
Colour drained landscapes,
await a virginal blanket of obscurity.
frozen in hibernating hopes of seasons past.
The Two Seasons of England
Once as four they came and went,
each season different, alive then spent.
In recent years the seasons became new,
leaving this land with nothing but two.
Wet or cold is all we get,
it appears now summer has set.
Spring went first, simply disappeared,
lost in winter, no longer revered.
Six months rain, now simply a bore,
half a year left, with both at the door.
Wintry gloom rides across the land,
no summer sun can lend a hand.
Thickened cloud in shades of grey,
battered colours held in sway.
Four became two when the rains came,
erasing two seasons till all’s the same.
Storms and floods are evenly spaced,
Spring and Summer, forever displaced.
Webbed fingers and toes may be next to come,
for the English land that lost the sun.
Winter pauses in its savage brutality,
Igniting hope for the sun seekers of summer.
Night time shades once prevalent hide from this unnatural light,
Tethering themselves to the pursuit of night.
Evergreen becomes real for a moment,
Revelling in the pale out of season sunshine.
Gathering across the sky, ink stained clouds
Reform the horizon, destruction their singular goal,
Eagerly the wait the arrival of their next storm.
Emerging from sun induced slumber, winter sharpens his talons,
Novel indeed are the thoughts of man, winter in green carries a mocking smile.