Autumn Damp
Wet lawns await their final cut
Their long uneven shocks of grass
Harbouring windfalls
Of soft decaying garden fruit
Whose juices ooze a sweetness
Which perfumes the air
Their undersides brown and rotting
Still home to lazy drunken wasps
The droppings and sheddings
From near-naked trees
Branches standing stark against the sky
Of the early misty morning
Among the mulching mess of leaves
Shading grey then into black
A fading dark, damp mush
Food for insects and work for worms
Hunkering down into foul and stinking mess
And the rich, rank stench of dying
The rambling brambles tangling
Still scratching, snagged with over-ripened berries
Which moulder and stain the fingers
Before falling, bruised and broken
Down among bedraggled nettles
Strewn heavy with dew-droplets
And in the darker shady places
Sprout musky mushrooms
And toxic toadstools
The only livid growths
Amongst the colours of death
And now we lose the light
The chill of shorter days
Sending shivers through the cobwebs
Soggy silver hunting nets
Strewn dewy amongst the weeds
And auburn leaf-fall
The occasional flash of gold or red
Between the darker shades
Of the grim-hued palette
Of the tired ground
As it awaits the swirling fogs
That will come to embrace it
And bring the freezing kiss of Winter
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