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Poem

Dies the gorgeous summer stillness
So I have to face the breeze
Now returns the autumn illness
What day of the week it is?
I lost count of the days
In the nonchalance of summer
Now its autumnal malaise
Who’s the most unwelcome comer?
I’d say autumn, if you ask me
Winter’s honest with its cold
Had I place to go, I’d flee
From this autumnal false gold
From the withering decay
But unfortunately I
Have no other place to stay
Have no wings for me to fly
So what now, a cigarette?
But I’ve done my share of fume 
Out into the cold and wet
To the shop, back to the room
With a bottle of champagne
And a mix of shrimp and mussles
Autumn came, and shall remain
Drink to see it worth the hassle
Though its mid of August now
Summer’s gone to meet September
Gone is Cupid with his bow
Arrows trashed to bonfire embers.

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